Building a Mystery
by mariteri
Summary: The life of Hermione Granger and Sherlock Holmes isn't what anyone would call easy. And that's fine, as long as they have each other. Sequel to "Hermione Rents a Flat". Rated M for violence and language.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Well, here we are! What you've all been waiting for. The sequel to "Hermione Rents a Flat". I hope that you like it**

**WARNINGS!—Okay, I'm just going to get all the warnings out of the way right here and now. Spoilers for Sherlock Season three, Episode three. Not to worry, nothing too terrible as I didn't want to rewrite what had already been done correctly the first time. Think of it more along the lines of a highlight reel, if you will. Needless to say the story is alternative universe and I'm not pretending otherwise. Oh yes, and there's mature language and violence here too. You have been WARNED!**

**That being said, thanks for reading and please enjoy, not to mention review!**

**…**

**Prologue**

**_June…_**

Hermione sat in silence with her eyes closed and just breathed. The last thing she recalled from before she had been hit was seeing a face she had not seen in years. Then she was hit from behind and everything went black. Her head hurt from where she was hit, but otherwise it would appear she was fine. The silence in the room was dense and she could only hear a faint buzz of sporadic traffic coming from the street. This told her that they were more than likely in a residential neighborhood—not London. Her eyes opened and she looked around the room. White and sterile everywhere she looked and without a doubt she knew that wherever she was it wasn't good. There was no furniture in the room and the walls and floors were same eye hurting white that seemed to be magnified by the lighting in the room. She looked to what she was sitting on. A metal folding chair and her wrists were tied to the back frame of it. The rough hemp of the rope had already cut into her skin.

A noise of the one door of the room opening, called her attention. The thin, well-dressed man grinned at her with an almost manic light in his blue eyes.

"Jamie," she breathed.

"Oh, I go by the name Jim now," he told her, strolling over and standing in front of her. "Dear Hermione. I must say, I wasn't expecting you to even be among the living still. What was it you were having issues with?" He pretended to think this over. "Yes, it was chronic depression as well as post-traumatic stress disorder." He frowned in a clownish fashion. "Still feeling blue, are we?"

Hermione said nothing, but continued to just stare at him with her steady brown gaze that was completely unreadable.

This only managed to enrage him. He went over and backhanded her. She was thrown slightly, but she righted herself before she could fall. Hermione felt the cut on her lip and the first trickle of blood going down her chin.

"If you think your Sherlock will be coming to save you, dear sweet Hermione, think again."

She only stared at him. Knowing he wanted to make this game last all the longer, he walked over to the door only to be stopped by her low, husky laughter. He turned slowly to face her. Hermione was still sitting there with her eyes closed, but she was chuckling to herself as she did so. The laughter wasn't full of mirth, but with a deep mocking hatred he had never heard from her before. The laughter died and soon enough she was opening her eyes to him. They were hard chips of glacial amber, her face changing to that of a predator as she watched him.

When she spoke next her voice was low and hard, filled with authority and dire threat to those who dare cross her. "You were always…vain, Jamie." She rotated her neck, as she sat up all the straighter in the chair. "Vain and arrogant. Enough so that it blinded you to others whom you already put into their neat little slots in that rather messed up head of yours." She closed her eyes again and managed to pull her wrists free of the ropes. Rubbing her wrists, she looked back over to him. "Always playing your little games, thinking that you have all your ducks in a row." She stood up and was face to face with him, saying, "It makes me wonder what the puppet master your Da would think of you not accounting for a variable in your equation." She gave him a sarcastic pout, as her voice went deep with an Irish brogue. "Poor work, Jamie. But then you've never been that much of a mathematician, have you?"

He tried hitting her again only to have her grab his arm and proceed to dislocate both his shoulder and his elbow in quick order. She threw his arm at him, completely useless to the man. Lying on the ground holding his arm to his chest, he was gasping in pain. She grabbed him by his ear and pulled him over to the chair, sitting him down.

"Are you listening, Jamie?" she breathed to which he nodded. "I don't play games…"

"You can't kill me," he told her. "I have people everywhere. Watching Holmes, Watson and his wife…" He gasped in pain, as he tried to move his arm.

Hermione only leaned over and flicked his nose hard. "Do stop annoying me by saying stupid things, Jamie…"

"Jim! My name is Jim!" he roared.

"But you'll always be Jamie in my heart," she told him, her words sarcastic and taunting. "Weak…ineffectual…little…_Jamie_." He growled at those words. "That's what your Da meant every time he uttered your name. And everyone who heard him say as much knew it." She stood up, stepping away from him. "Yes, you had people watching us all, haven't you? But pray tell, who was watching the watchers?" His eyes went to hers and he knew that not only were these men found, but they were more than likely dead. "Let me finish what I have to say and I'll be on my way."

She stood up straight, looking him dead in the eyes. "I don't play games, Jamie. I wage war. If you send your players my way, I will send them back to you…" She leaned down and growled the last, "…_in pieces_." She stood up regally with her face set so unlike the victim he thought her to be, but the queen of the board able to kill one and all in her wake. "So play your games like boys do. I could tell you to not bother, but you've always been a brat needing your own way all the time."

She went over and opened the door. He had expected her to be hit with gun fire, but nothing happened.

"Did you really think I didn't know that was you at the Chelsea Theatre?" She looked over to him. "I've had your scent ever since. Please do not doubt that…" She sneered and said, in a hard sarcastic tone, "…Jim." She rotated her head again, making her neck crack. "I wish I could say that this was pleasant, but as you know I've never been a good liar."

"What about Holmes?" he demanded.

"What about him?" she asked him. "You will try to play your games, he will stop you, and the cycle begins anew." She gave a fake yawn that she covered with a delicate hand. "How tedious." Her eyes went all the harder, as she said, "And if I grow too bored with your games, who knows? I may have to put a stop to them myself. And you wouldn't want that, would you?" His eyes went narrow at her words. "So take care, Jamie. For you never know what will bring me into play." Taking the door handle into her hand, she walked out of the room and closed the door very quietly behind her—the click of it shutting as loud as a gunshot.

Jim rushed and tried to find his men, but they were gone. He searched the block, but there was nothing and no one there. Not his men, not his weapons, and no Hermione Granger in sight. He scream out indignation and fury echoed in the small neighborhood in Kent. But even as the hate for his one-time friend boiled in his mind, he knew to go near her was paramount to suicide. Madness aside, no one had yet called him stupid. And clashing with the woman he had come face to face in that room would be just that.

**TBC…**

**…**

**And that's the start of it all! What did you think? Review to let me know. Thanks for reading and have yourself a splendid day!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hello! Here's chapter one. Hope that you enjoy it.**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter One**

Apparition had been a mistake. Hermione leaned against the building, her arm like a bar holding her up with her head dropped low. Bile surged and she found herself vomiting against the building. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to pull herself together. So you have a concussion, she told herself, wiping her mouth off with a handkerchief. She took note of the blood on the cloth and wondered not for the first time if she would have been better off disapperitating over to St. Mungo's. Too late for that, she reasoned with the logic of the truly concussed. What now?

She couldn't call Harry, as he and Ginny were out of town. And Severus had a date that night. The last thing he wanted or needed was work getting into the way of what little love life he had. And what of John? No, there'd be no logical explanation. And let's face it, she reasoned with herself, if popping over to St. Mungo's wasn't an option neither was doing the same over to Scotland. That did it, she thought, that only left one option. She had to find Sherlock.

Now the question was how the hell was she going to do that? Taking out her wand, she placed it on the palm of her hand, as she chanted a spell.

"Point me," she breathed. The wand spun on her palm and stopped.

Taking a deep breath, she began stumbling her way through the streets of London in search of Sherlock Holmes.

…

She slid her wand back into its sheath within her jacket lining, stumbling into the building only to be stopped by a tall, reed thin man dressed up in several hoodies with the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen.

"Can't go in," he told her. "Don't even bother, miss."

She absently spat out some of the foul flavor out of her mouth before saying, "I'm here for Sherlock Holmes. Don't lie to me, as I know he's here. The way I figure it one of three things will be happening within the next five minutes. One, I will more than likely vomit on you. This, as you might have surmised is due to the fact that I have a concussion. But honestly, given where you work that isn't going to be much of a deterrent. Two, I will more than likely dislocate your knee and step over your prone form."

"And three?" he asked, now genuinely curious.

"Fuck, man! I have a concussion. I was doing well to come up with two!" she snapped, making him smile. "Just let me get to him." He stopped her from walking in with a hand to her chest. Taking a deep breath, she screamed, "Sherlock Holmes, get your bloody arse over here now!"

Sherlock stumbled over and looked at her. "Hermione, what are you doing here?"

"I am concussed," she told him, going over to him. "I need a doctor. I need pain medication. But more importantly, I need mouthwash." She spat out the bile from her mouth once again. "What are you doing here? What is this place?"

"Nowhere of import," he told her, walking her over with him to where he had been lying down. "Can going to see John wait?"

"I suppose, but do you have mouthwash?"

"No, sorry, I don't." He sat her, sitting down next to her. "Lie down with me."

"I will," she told him, as she began searching her coat. "I could have sworn I had some…" She pulled out a travel sized mouthwash. "See! I knew it was there." She rinsed out her mouth, spitting it out on the floor. Pocketing the tiny bottle, she curled up next to Sherlock who pulled her into his arms.

"Just what don't you carry in that jacket of yours?" Sherlock asked her.

"Condoms and beer." This gained a snort of laughter from him.

He nuzzled her neck. "You shouldn't sleep, not with a concussion."

"Okay," she sighed, leaning her head back and baring more of her neck to his wandering mouth.

Everything started getting fuzzy about the time he reached for her pants to pull them off. Everything went black just after she kicked her own knickers off.

…

Someone was slapping her face. Hermione blinked, struggling to regain consciousness.

"That's it," she heard Sherlock say. "Wake up and look into my eyes." She did. "Damn, you're in worse shape than I thought."

Hermione looked down at her now bare body and muttered, "Where is my clothing?"

"I do believe that they are currently in that pile there," he said, pointing over to a dirty pile of what looked to be rags.

"Did we…" she stopped to swallow back vomit threatening to erupt from her gut. "Did we have sex?"

"We tried, but failed," he muttered, not sounding happy at all. "Here put this on." He helped her sit up and put her jacket on along with his own, which would cover more of her.

They curled back up together, his arms like tight bands around her.

"Just rest and soon enough I'll get you to hospital," he told her.

"Hmm," she hummed, as her eyes slid shut once again. "When?"

"When I can walk," he assured her. "Which will be within the next three hours. I'll keep waking you, but rest for now."

"Okay," she sighed and drifted back into the blackness.

…

Someone was yelling. Hermione woke slowly, to find that her back was now to the wall that Sherlock had been facing. He was now sitting on the mattress with John Watson growling and snarling at him like a pit bull.

"Hermione?" She looked over to see him watching her with shock. "What are you doing here? And are you naked?"

She looked down at herself before stating, "Aren't we all just naked under our clothing?"

This only gained her a growl of temper and had him yanking Sherlock and herself to her feet. Sherlock was making excuses even as Hermione just hoped not to vomit again with how fast they were moving. All the jumping about wasn't helping in the least either. Thank Merlin Sherlock stopped long enough to catch her or else she would have ended up on her face, she was sure.

"Take care with her, John!" Sherlock snapped, as soon as the doctor got a hold of her once again. "She has a concussion!"

"I'll see to her once were over to St. Barts," he told him, pushing him into the back of Mary's car. He pushed Hermione with care into the car, taking note for the first time that her mouth was swollen. "What happened to you, Hermione?"

"Saw someone I haven't seen in forever," she told him. "We used to be friends way back when I was in university. His Da taught mathematics." She ended up scooting in and sitting on Sherlock's lap. His arms came around her, pressing his face into her wild mane of curls. "He doesn't like me." She snorted at this. "That's okay though, 'cuz he is a rat bastard not worth knowing." Sherlock lifted his face and tilted her head so that he could look her over. "He hit me." She pointed to her mouth. "See?"

"I see," he murmured. "Did he hit your head from behind?"

"Not him, but one of his minions," she muttered with a nod. But Hermione ended up having to squeeze her eyes shut with the motion of the car when John and another man got into it. This sent the car rocking in both directions and had her feeling something akin to seasickness. "I dislocated his shoulder and elbow." She swallowed back bile, adding, "Nothing less than he deserved."

"Is Diarmuid okay?" Sherlock asked.

"I was only going out to get some milk," she muttered. "Left him at home." Snuggling into him all the more, she breathed, "For the best. The rat bastard would have killed him." And again the blackness of unconsciousness claimed her.

**TBC…**

**…**

**And that's chapter one away! Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Please if you can, take the time to review. I do need the feedback. It would help out loads if I had some. I hope that you're all doing well and continue to have an awesome day.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Howdy! Here we are already to chapter two. Everyone buckled in and ready for the ride? Here we go! Enjoy.**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Two**

John dragged Hermione and Sherlock into the morgue. He demanded that they both be tested for drugs.

"I didn't take anything," Hermione told him, going to stand next to Sherlock. She wrapped Sherlock's jacket all the tighter around herself, as she said, "I'm concussed, not intoxicated."

"You're naked, Hermione. Something happened," John said in a stony tone. "Both of you get tested." He paused and muttered to his wife, "You're going to have to do a rape kit on her."

Before Hermione could protest, her eyes rolled back into her head and she would have dropped to the floor if not for Sherlock catching her.

When Hermione woke up, it was to find herself in a hospital bed. The room was dark, but even so she knew that there was someone there with her in the room.

"Your skull was fractured," the words were harsh coming from the corner of the room. Sherlock stepped out of the shadows. "They didn't just hit you. Whomever did it, did so with the purpose of attempting to seriously injure, if not, kill you."

Hermione's hand went to her head, touching the bandage there. "What…"

"Surgery to relieve pressure on your brain. Turns out that you had previous brain trauma but from what no one could say," he told her casually. "Who attacked you?"

"This time?" That only had his eyes going sharper. "Let me see your phone." He handed it over to her and she dialed a number.

"Where are you?" came Severus's hard voice.

"I'm in St. Barts with a fractured skull," she told him. "Room…" She looked around and gave him the room number. "Hurry. I've already been under the knife." She hung up the phone, closing her eyes as the mobile was pulled from her fingers. He looked down at the phone, attempting to look at the now blackened display.

"Why can't my phone work?" he asked, angrily.

She winced and muttered, "I'll buy you a new one."

Five minutes later a furious Severus Snape walked into the hospital room. He took one look at Sherlock and snapped, "Get out." When he didn't move, it looked like he would have physically tossed him from the room if not for Hermione catching his arm.

"It wasn't him," she breathed.

He moved so that he was nearer to the bed so that she was lying back down on it. "Who was it?"

"Jamie," she breathed. "It was Jamie."

"That same fucking little bastard that tried to make it look like you attempted to kill yourself?"

She nodded.

He sat down and handed her several potion vials. She drank them in the order that he had given them to her. Soon enough she was curled up and sleeping once again.

"Who is this Jamie?" Sherlock asked him.

"She never told me his full name," he muttered. "And as much as I tried, I couldn't find anything by way of his name in her papers at the time. Only knew him by the name Jamie." Standing up, he stood toe to toe with Sherlock. "If you can, get the name out of her and pass it along to me. I'll see to it he doesn't see another day alive and we'll both be the happier for it, I'm sure."

Sherlock nodded to this, before asking, "How much longer before she can leave the hospital?"

He thought it over a moment. "Wake her in a few hours. She should be fine then. But if you can, let her sleep for at least another five to six hours."

Sherlock nodded to this but asked before Severus could leave, "And what of the people that killed her parents?"

He turned slightly, saying, "She told you about that, did she?"

"Not the entire story," he murmured. "You're a man that gets what he wants and something tells me that you want those individuals that caused Hermione such pain in the ground as much as I do." Severus turned to him sharply. "Am I wrong?"

"No, not at all," he answered. "The people responsible for her parents' deaths are no longer an issue."

Sherlock nodded to this and said, "Good."

"But I'm not the one that dealt with them." He nodded to Hermione. "She did. Pity is she doesn't remember doing it."

Sherlock's eyes went narrow.

"It's the truth. She hunted them down like the furies themselves and has no recollection of doing so," Severus told him. "And given how she's bound to react if she were to ever find out…" He looked over to her. "It would more than likely destroy her."

…

Sherlock helped her walk into his flat just as he saw Anderson coming from the kitchen. He looked over to them, handing over something to John to be tested as he left the room. Hermione frowned at this, looking over to John for some answers.

"He's looking for drugs," John told her, as both Sherlock and he helped her sit down without falling. "Should you be out of hospital?"

Anderson came back and said in a hard voice, "I can't get into her flat."

John looked over to her, saying, "You don't have to have your flat searched, but it would be just like him to hide something in your space."

"That wouldn't happen," she told him. "Diarmuid wouldn't let him."

"Dermot?" Anderson asked.

"No, Diarmuid," she corrected him, looking back over to John. "There's no way he'd let him hide anything in my flat."

Anderson snorted. "And who is this Deer-mot?"

Sighing heavily, she looked over to Sherlock who was laying back with his eyes shut. "I think I comprehend what you find so exacerbating about him."

This had his lips twisting into a grin.

Hermione looked back over to Anderson and hollered, "Diarmuid!"

Galloping from below stairs shook the house and soon enough a large Irish wolfhound crashed into the room. He went over to Hermione, licking her face once before whimpering and putting his head on her lap.

"I'm fine," she told him quietly, petting his head.

"That's…" Anderson started.

"Diarmuid," Hermione told him. "And he would never allow anyone to hide a thing in my flat." She looked to John. "Including me, I might add. Silly dog keeps thinking they must be treats…" She scratched the dog behind his ear. "Lord, I am not looking forward to cleaning up the mess he must have left behind while I was out." She scratched him behind his ears, cooing, "All the world is your hiding place for your treats, isn't that right, you big baby?"

"I do wish you wouldn't speak to him so," Sherlock complained to her. "Let's all go along and let Anderson here understand what anyone would be up against."

They all went downstairs with Hermione in the lead and Sherlock directly behind her to make certain she didn't fall. Anderson was in shock with the amount of books that littered the flat. And so he started his search, but not without company. Diarmuid was with him every step of the way. Hermione and Sherlock, on the other hand, were both on her large lounge with their eyes closed. When Anderson got to the cabinets—he couldn't open a single one of them.

Fed up, he looked over to John and said, "There's no way he could have hidden anything in these cabinets. And given the way the dog is, I doubt anyplace else within this flat."

John snorted. "If anyone could, it would be Sherlock!"

Hermione looked over to Sherlock, whispering, "There's not enough trust in the world."

"For good reason," Sherlock murmured back to her, opening his eyes and turning to look at her. "No one should trust me."

"I trust you," she said quietly. "Why do you think I found you?"

He sat up straighter, looking at her. "How did you do that?"

"Easy," she said, as she barely got to her feet. She could hardly stand, but this was thanks to the dog and not her own inability to keep upright. Sherlock pushed the dog out of her way, as he too got to his feet. "I just found you."

**TBC…**

**…**

**And that's another chapter away. Thanks for reading! Please review! Reviews are the bread and butter for the fanfiction writer, after all. You don't want us to go without our calorie free bread and butter, do you?! LOL! By all means have yourselves a shiny day.**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hello everyone! Thanks for reading. Here's the next chapter. Hope that you like it. Enjoy!**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Three**

"But you didn't say how," John told her.

"Like I remember," she snorted. "But I have a valid reason, as I was concussed."

"You were more brain injured than that!" John exclaimed, making her flinch.

"You and my friend Harry should meet and go to some sort of lesson that can teach you how to use your indoor voices," Hermione muttered, on her way to her room. "Sherlock, bed."

"Coming." He followed her into the bedroom.

John and Anderson just stood there a moment before John asked, "Was I hallucinating or did that really just happen?"

"She just ordered him to bed," Anderson breathed. "And he said he was coming."

They blinked at each other before rushing over to the bedroom to find Hermione curled up wrapped protectively in Sherlock's arms as they both slept soundly.

"A part of me wants to take a photo," Anderson breathed. "As proof, you know?"

"Not if you value your hide, you won't," Hermione was the one to say without ever opening her eyes. "Go away, Hobbits. We're sleeping."

"I am not a Hobbit!" Anderson snapped.

"Diarmuid, see them out."

Sure as anything, the dog managed to get them out of the flat. He went between tugging Anderson out by the seat of his pants and barking at John, who was too nervous to do a thing other than back away out of the flat. Once both of them were out of the flat, the dog shut the door in their faces.

"You know if that dog belonged to anyone else, this would shock me," John muttered. "Let's go test what we found, shall we?"

Meanwhile, downstairs Sherlock let out a long tired breath. He watched as the dog came into the room, plopping down next to the bed.

Closing his eyes, he said, "Good boy."

…

Hermione woke later that day to find herself alone in the bed. She got up and went over to the upstairs flat. No sooner did she enter the room did John have her sitting down and he was checking her over.

"Well, you look much better than I thought you would be," he told her. "Given what I saw on your MRIs, I'd be expecting you to still be in bed."

"I get that a lot," she murmured.

"There is one thing I have to ask you about," he said, standing up and headed over to the kitchen.

"That's amazing." He stopped and looked over to her. "Only one thing?"

That had him grinning as he amended, "At this moment."

"Okay," she said, looking over to Sherlock. His eyes were closed and his fingers stippled under his chin. "He must be communicating with people within his mind palace." She looked over to a shocked John. "Is there coffee?"

"Just tea…What do you mean by that? Who is he communicating with?"

Hermione looked at him perplexed. "How am I supposed to know that? I'm not in there, now am I?" She walked past him into the kitchen, as she muttered, "Silly man."

She started a pot of tea and went out to the sitting room. Touching Sherlock's shoulder, she waited. His eyes opened. "Case or not?"

"Case," he answered.

"Want tea?"

"Not now." And his eyes closed again.

Hermione looked over to John. "Why don't you have Mary come over and I'll feed the two of you."

"Are you sure you're up to cooking?" John asked her.

"I've only confused my left and my right once," she told him. "But that's not overly important."

Sherlock came into the doorway, snapping, "I must teach you to lie better, woman! Go sit down. John and I are ordering in take away. What do you want?"

"Nothing spicy."

"No curries. What else?" Sherlock inquired.

"Nothing too exotic. My stomach is still rocky."

Hermione's mobile rang and she pulled it from her house coat's pocket. "Hello?"

"Hermione? Are you okay?" It was Harry. "The clock…"

"I'm still a bit wonky, but I'm okay," she murmured. "I'm thinking this is how Luna must see life like…"

"Merlin, I'm coming over," Harry told her.

"Can you have Ginny bring over something to eat? The usual. My stomach's off."

"Will do," he told her.

They hung up and Hermione looked to them. "Never fear. Dinner is being brought over. Ginny always cooks enough for an army. So go on and call Mary." She grinned. "You get to meet Dill!" There was knocking at the front door. "That's them!"

"Already?" John muttered, and went to answer the door.

Sure enough, it was the Potters. Ginny charged into the flat, Dylan in a bundle in her arms. She stopped and looked at Hermione horror lighting her features.

"Your hair!" she gasped. "What happened to your hair?!"

"I want to hold Dylan," she murmured, going over to sit down on the lounge. "Come on! Come on! I want to see if he's changed!"

Ginny went over to her, handing her son over to her carefully. Hermione rested the swaddled baby on her lap. Her fingers made quick work of the blanket and soon enough the baby was grabbing a hold of her fingers and looking about the room with blatant curiosity.

"Hello, Dylan," she murmured to him. "It's been an age since I've seen you. A whole week must feel like forever to you, little man." He looked up to her face, his still baby blue eyes were watching her intently. "Oh Gin, you and Harry make such beautiful babies."

"Thank you," her friend whispered, leaning her chin on her friend's shoulder. "What happened to your hair?"

"I haven't had the nerve to look," she confessed. "I have had brain surgery. So in truth, my hair wasn't an issue so much as, well, the surgery." Hermione looked over to her good friend. "Do you think it can be fixed?"

"Of course," Ginny assured her gently. "I'll be by tomorrow with Lily and the three of us can have a girl's day out."

Harry was holding Lily's hand as they walked over to her. He handed the casserole dish to John. "It's macaroni and cheese. Ten minutes in the oven at 230 Celsius and it should be as molten as she cares for it." He turned to look to Sherlock before kneeling next to his daughter. "Now go give your aunt a hug. It looks like she needs the attention, luv."

"Yes, daddy!" she replied and charged over to Hermione.

Ginny took up her son, as Hermione got a big hug from the little girl.

"It's my Lily blossom," Hermione cooed, hugging her and giving her a kiss on her temple. "You give the best hugs ever!"

"I know," she murmured with the confidence that could only be carried off by the young. She pulled back and announced, "You don't have hair on half of your head!"

**TBC…**

**…**

**And that's another chapter sailing into the internet seas. Thanks for reading and have yourselves a blissful day!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hi! Here's chapter four. Hope that you like it. Please review to let me know what you think of it so far. But more than anything, enjoy!**

**…**

**Chapter Four**

Hermione's brave front crumbled and soon enough she was crying into Ginny's shoulder even as Harry was taking both children off to the side. Sherlock, who had left the room to avoid the visitors, came storming back into the room. He looked about at everyone, his eyes landing on Hermione.

"What happened?" Harry asked him, his voice controlled as he didn't want to spook his daughter who was already upset that she had accidently made her aunt cry.

"She was attacked," he told him. "Do you know the last name of the man she refers to as Jamie?"

"That loathsome man again?" Harry asked, his voice going hard. "No, she never did say. I would have hunted the bastard down by now if I had. And would have had company in the quest, I might add."

Sherlock nodded, muttering, "Consider me part of the hunting party." He looked over to Hermione, a woman that wasn't one to cry for no reason and felt something in his chest tighten at the sight.

"Have you had any coffee?" Ginny asked her gently, as she rubbed her back.

"No," she muttered, yanking out a hankie from her house coat pocket. "And I don't have any in my flat, as I drank it all last week." She blew her nose. "And I'm always too lazy to think to buy the amount I need."

Ginny looked over to Harry, who nodded. "I'm on it. The usual?"

"Dark roast, please," Hermione murmured. "The darker the better."

"Right," he answered, as he handed the baby off to his wife. He looked over to Sherlock and said under his breath, "If you want answers from her about Jamie, now would be the time. But take care. My wife's as fierce as they come in protecting her."

Just then Diarmuid came strolling into the room, making Lily gasp at the sight of the large beast before going over to him and hugging his neck. The giant of a dog laid down, showing the little girl his belly. He was panting happily as Lily giggled and went to work scratching him as he wanted.

Sherlock went over when he saw that Ginny had handed the baby over to Hermione. The baby was resting on her chest, as she rubbed slow circles on his tiny back. He slid in next to her, looking at the child and then to her.

"Perhaps you should hold the baby?" she asked him. "You'll need the practice what with Mary and John expecting."

He hummed and said, "Perhaps." He was silent for a time before asking, "Where did you study Mathematics?"

"Several places," she murmured. "I got my undergrad in the states at Stanford. I attained my mastery of both math and languages and symbols over at Leeds, where I also attained my doctorate in the latter. I received my Ph.D. in Mathematics at Oxford."

"Leeds is where you had your dealings with Jamie?"

Her eyes went vague with the memory and she murmured, "He poisoned me and made it look like I had tried to kill myself." She blinked, looking at him. "He's evil. I think I knew it even then, but I thought he had been my friend and during such a brutal time." She sighed heavily. "I made a lovely target. So easily victimized with my depression and post-traumatic stress—what made it all the worse was the fact that his father appeared to like me." She rubbed her eyes. "That just made me all the more appealing to him I suppose."

John came out of the kitchen, saying, "The dinner is ready. I made a rocket salad to go with the casserole."

"Want me to set the table?" Ginny asked, only to find that the table was covered with things best left untouched and a barrage of newspapers. "I think not." She looked over to Hermione. "Is your dining table any better?"

"It might be," she murmured. "Why don't you go see to it and we'll all go downstairs to eat?"

"Sounds perfect," Ginny said, as she took up her daughter. "And you get to help me!"

"Okay!" Lily chimed.

Diarmuid looked over to Hermione, who nodded. He followed the others over to the downstairs, leaving the three alone.

"Why don't you call Mary?" Hermione told him. "There's more than enough food and it would give her a bit of a break."

"That I will," John said with a grin, leaving the room to ring his wife.

Hermione's eyes went over to Sherlock once they were alone. "Do you honestly think that I don't know what you're about?"

His eyes went sharp, as he watched her intently. "And what would that be?"

"Jamie, of course," she murmured. "Fucking toad. Did I tell you I dislocated his shoulder and elbow?" She cooed to a now fussing Dylan, who settled down right away. "He was trying to hit me again."

"Left arm," he muttered.

"I think it was, but I keep reversing it in my head. I'm mirroring the memory. That happens sometimes when I'm tired. Bothersome that."

"Why?" he asked her.

"You know that war I told you I can't tell you about?" He nodded. "And that torture I eluded to?" He nodded again. "That's why."

"What kind of torture could do that?" he asked her quietly, attempting to think of anything of the sort and coming up with nothing.

John joined them again and told them that Mary was on her way over.

"Can you be a dear and take Dylan, John?" she asked him.

"Of course," he said, moving over and taking the baby up from her hands. "He is beautiful."

"That he is," she murmured, moving slowly forward in order to get to her feet.

"And he is so sociable! I would have thought he'd be crying once I took him. Most of the babies I've held do so by now," John murmured, enjoying the feel of the baby in his arms and thinking that soon enough it would be his own child.

"He has loads of aunts and uncles," she told him. "Not to mention two older brothers and one older sister. He's accustomed to being passed about his family and their friends already."

John was chattering away to Dylan, as he made his way down the stairs to Hermione's flat.

Sherlock helped her to her feet, as he said, "You haven't answered my question."

"No," she said, tapping his chest with her knuckle lightly. "You're going out of order. You can't just ask a question in the middle of it all and expect it to have a reasonable answer, if you don't have the answer to the first ones. Stick to the sequence!"

"What would that be?"

"Go to the first," she told him. "The very first. One you haven't even come close to asking. Once you have the answer to that, the rest will naturally follow."

"What's the first?" he demanded of her quietly.

"That would be telling," she breathed. "You're the detective, sir. What do you think the question is?"

"Why a war?"

"Go further back."

"Why were you in the war?"

"Further still."

His jaw went tight and he was about to lose what grip he had on his temper, when he felt her arms going around his waist. She rested her head on his chest, her ear pressed above his heart.

"What are you?" she asked. "A detective, says I."

He went utterly still, as he asked, "What are you?"

Lifting her head, she looked at him in the eyes and told him, "I'm a witch."

**TBC…**

**…**

**Ahh! It's about time she told him. LOL! I so wanted her to tell him the correct way. Did I do it right? Review to let me know! Thanks for reading and you have a fantastic day!**


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Here's chapter five! Hope you're liking the story so far.**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Five**

Doubt and logic fought with what he knew. Hermione didn't lie. She didn't have it in her to do it well. She thought she was telling the truth, he reasoned. But that's when she pulled out her wand and shot fire into the fireplace. Any and all arguments he had died a sudden death.

She held up her wand in front of his face, saying, "I'm a witch. Any questions at this time?"

He took her wand from her, looking it over. "Witches are real?"

"Very," she murmured. "So is the female G-spot."

He shot her a hard look, saying, "Getting off topic."

"I miss sex," she told him absently.

"I didn't need to know that," he muttered, looking over her wand once again.

"I've been abstinent for just over ten years. I want the next time I have sex to mean something." His eyes went sharp at her words. "And I really want to have that sex with you, because I feel more than a base lust when I'm near you." That had his eyes shooting to hers even as she took the wand from him, putting it away. "So, yes, you did need to hear that."

He was silent a moment before saying, "Valid reasoning."

Just then Harry came in with a sack and a freshly brewed coffee in hand. He gave it over to Hermione, who he told to sit down to rest.

"Where's my family?" he asked.

"Downstairs in my flat," she told him, who was sitting down as she was told. "Go on down. I have some things I'm still speaking of with Sherlock."

He looked from one to the other, before asking, "Finally telling him, huh?"

Sherlock's eyes went over to him. "You're a witch too?"

"Wizard," he corrected him, but looked over to Hermione. "That too?"

"It just popped up," she murmured, sipping on her brew. Letting out a long sigh, she added, "I might have mentioned some other things as well." Taking another sip of her coffee, she breathed, "I'll talk to you later about this, Harry."

Harry moved so that he was close to her and he whispered, "One to ten, how are you now functioning?"

"Five," she answered. "Maybe."

"If you're not up to a seven by the time the meal is over, we're taking you to St. Mungo's." He nodded to Sherlock and walked out of the room.

As soon as Harry was gone, Sherlock asked, "Why were you in a war?"

She looked over to him, saying, "If we cannot fight for our own rights, who will?" She leaned back on the lounge. "To know about the war, you must know about us. The wizarding world is a very classist society. It isn't just about money or wealth though. It's about where your magic supposedly comes from, as well.

"There are purebloods—they have a long history of magic being within their families. In some cases, there are familial rumors of their magical heritage going as far back as Merlin. There are half-bloods—men and women who have one parent who are pureblooded and the other who is either non-magical or muggle born. Severus Snape is a half-blood. And then there are the muggle born—they have no family history of magic.

"Then there are those born without the capability to access what little magical core they have, if they have one at all despite being born into a pureblood family—they are known as squibs. Mrs. Figg is a squib. And finally there are the people born with no magic what so ever, they are referred to as muggles. Which, if you haven't figured it out, is what you and John are."

"You are a muggle born, are you not?"

"Yes," she said nodding. "A mudblood is a slur on a muggle born. It means dirty blood. Seeing as we don't have their history that we are in fact unworthy of our magic and are, to them, unclean."

"Not pure." She nodded to his comment.

She put down her coffee and pulled back her left sleeve to reveal the word on her arm.

"She carved it into my arm so I wouldn't forget where I came from." Hermione looked up into Sherlock's eyes. "Carved it with a cursed knife so I could never get rid of it. I'll always have this reminder." She remembered that picture that they saw in the museum. "That picture of Ginny, Luna and I…the one where we were fighting that woman…" He nodded. "That was her. The one that did this…" She waved her right hand over the scar. "She tortured me for around two hours. She hit me with curses that have been known to kill or permanently disable the mind and brain." She felt him sitting next to her on the lounge. "I do believe if not for the fact that they needed to know the information so badly, she would have made me a shell of who I am or killed me."

"And the scars on your back?"

Grinning she said, "You mean you can't tell what happened?"

Closing his eyes, he thought it over. Opening his eyes, he said, "A chandelier fell on you."

"A rather atrocious one at that." She reached out and touched his arm lightly. "Promise me we'll never get one."

Sherlock took up her hand with his own and kissed her knuckles, he assured her, "We're never getting one." But then sighed wearily. "I can't say we won't be given one from my brother."

Smiling sweetly, she said, "That's okay. I have a plan."

Smiling evilly, he asked, "What?"

Hermione's face fell, as she muttered, "I can't remember it. But when I do, you'll be the very first person I tell."

He studied her a moment. "You're not even close to being a two, are you?"

Sadness swallowed her features, as she shook her head no. He took up her coffee and handed it over to her. Slipping his arm over her shoulder, he walked her over to the stairs.

"Eat what you can and go to that St. Mungo's—is that a hospital?" he murmured and she nodded. "Allow Harry to take you to hospital. I need you in fine form for this one."

She went on tiptoe and kissing his mouth lightly. "Take care. That man Magnussen is…" Her mouth pursed. "He has a finger in too many pies. Sooner or later someone will cut them off. But he's one to have them grow back with twice as many as before."

"That he is," he muttered. "But how did you know…"

"All the newspapers on your dining table," she interrupted, pointing to it. "They're all owned by his company. Different locations, different editions, but all owned by Magnussen." Hermione smiled weakly. "I have no idea what year it is, I can't tell my right from my left, and I'm only slightly sure Napoleon is not the president of the E.U., but that I remember for some god forsaken reason." Shaking her head, she muttered, "Where's the justice in that, I ask you?"

**TBC…**

**…**

**And that's another chapter in the finished bin. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, and following/favoriting! I appreciate you taking the time more than I can express. And coming from a writer that means something! LOL! Thanks again and have a wonderful day.**


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**BONUS CHAPTER! Yes and no. Seeing as I don't know if I'm going to be able to post tomorrow, I'm posting an extra chapter today just in case. Enjoy!**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Six**

Days past with Hermione healing at St. Mungo's. Hermione's world was a haze of potions, daily calls from Sherlock, and the routine of doing what one must to function on a day to day basis. When she started coming around and noticing more, she saw Ginny sitting next to her bed along with Luna.

"What day is it?" she asked, trying as she might to sit up in the bed.

"It's been a week since you were admitted," Ginny told her, as she stood up. "Are you up for eating anything?"

"More than anything I want out of here," she answered, getting to her feet. She walked over to the nearest mirror and looked at herself. Her hair was a fucking mess and she had never wanted to be rid of it more. "Do you think I'd be able to get my hair fixed today?"

"That sounds grand," Luna said, her voice soft and dreamy as always. "With Molly, Fleur, and the others tending our children and Diarmuid, we can take our time and have lunch as well." Tilting her head, she asked, "Where did you get your dog? Rolf swears he's a magical breed…"

"We can talk all about that later," Ginny told her. "Let me get you the clothing I brought for you to wear home and, Luna, let's see what you can do about helping her check out of the hospital?"

"Okay," she murmured, drifting out of the room to do as she was asked.

Twenty minutes later they were walking slowly out of the hospital to the nearest apparition point. Ginny side alonged Hermione, as she still wasn't at one hundred percent to a new magical hair salon and spa in Diagon Alley that had opened its doors after the war had ended. Luna was quick to join them and the three began making a day of it.

Hermione was beginning to wonder why Sherlock hadn't phoned her when her mobile rang. Looking at it, she frowned as she had never seen the number before.

"Hello?" she answered, just as she was looking at the hair cut she had for the first time.

"Hermione? It's John Watson," he said, his voice very tight. "It's Sherlock. He's been shot."

She stood up straight, alarming everyone there with her brisk, "Where is he?"

"St. Barts," he told her. "He's in surgery."

"I'll be there in five minutes," she replied.

"What? There's no way…"

She hung up on him, turning to Ginny and Luna. "I have to go. Sherlock. He's been shot. I have to go…"

Ginny pulled her to a stop, telling her, "There's no way that you can disapparite in your condition. Let us help you." Concern radiated off of the woman she considered to be her sister in every way but blood.

Hermione nodded reluctantly, knowing that there would be no way she could get to Sherlock without the help. They paid off the tab and soon they were on their way to St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

…

It was ten minutes later, but true to her word Hermione Granger was there. Ginny and Luna dropped her off, getting a promise from her to call if she needed anything. John looked over to see Hermione with her new pixie haircut, making her delicate features stand out all the more. This was in stark contrast to how the woman felt, which was plain as day on her face. She looked like an infuriated imp. And given what skills he had seen her display, he in no way wanted to remain on her bad side.

"What happened?" she asked him, as she arrived at his side.

"You probably know more than I do," he admitted. "You've been talking to him daily."

"That means nothing and you know it," she muttered. "What happened?"

He told her what little he knew, leaving off with, "They took him straight into surgery."

"You've contacted Mycroft?" she asked, her voice thin and without much inflection.

"Yes, he ordered me to keep him apprized." He studied her a moment. "Where have you been?"

"Away." She pulled out her phone and called Mycroft herself.

"What the bloody hell happened?" he growled into the receiver.

"I don't know," she answered. "I was hoping you had some answers." Sitting down hard, Hermione told him, "I've been in hospital myself. Nothing that could be avoided or else I would have been there to stop him from being shot."

She heard him breathing heavily, as if he were trying to calm himself. "Skull fracture. Severus told me when I called him." He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. "I…know you would have been there to protect him if that had not been the case. But I find that rational thinking leaves me when a situation has anything to do with my brother."

"I'm here now," she murmured, turning to see a doctor coming over to John. "I think the surgery is over."

"You are Sherlock's wife," he said briskly. "Go." And he hung up.

Hermione blinked at the phone in shock. She was Sherlock's _what?_ She stood up and just went with what he had said. And perhaps if she were extremely lucky, she wouldn't make a complete arse of herself in the process.

She joined John just as the surgeon said that only the family of the man could be in the room with him.

"That would be me," she said casually, managing to find a ring and putting it on her ring finger while it was in her jacket pocket. "I'm his wife."

"You're his what?" John asked, flummoxed as to when this could have happened. "Since…"

"Since forever and a day ago," she told him, thinking she would just about hex him if he didn't shut up soon.

"You don't even have a ring…"

She showed it to him.

Frowning at it, he said, "That's a plastic skull on your finger."

"Yes," she told him. "Why do you think I never wear it? It's a plastic skull, John." Shaking her head, she muttered, "My mother must be rolling in her grave over that fact." She smiled tightly at the surgeon, who didn't know what to say or do. "Can you please take me to him sometime before he's completely healed?"

"I require identification," he told her.

"Of course you do," she murmured, going into one of her inner pockets and pulled out her card holder. Shuffling through several, she pulled out her identification and handed it over to him.

Looking it over, he nodded. "Looks right, ma'am." He handed it back over to her.

She put it away and said to the man, "Can you give us a moment, sir? I just need to pass on messages to the family that come around to see him before he's able to have visitors."

"Of course," he said, pointing to the station about twenty meters away. "I'll be right there waiting for you. Please make it short. I have other patients."

She nodded and waited until he was a good distance away before turning to John. "We don't know who shot him, John. That means that anyone with the where through all to steal surgical scrubs and the ability to get through security has another opportunity at him. I, for one, will not allow that to happen. Yes, you've proven yourself time and again, but you have a wife now and you can't stay here overnight. I can do so, stupid ring or not."

He rocked back on his heels at those words.

"Besides, do you really want to be the one to tell the British Government that his idea was silly?"

He looked at her sharply. "You know…"

Without saying another word, she turned heel and left to join up with the doctor who took her over to Sherlock's room.

**TBC…**

**…**

**And there you go! Another chapter has crossed the finish line in the race to the internet. Thanks for reading! And have a superlative day.**


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hello! What I had planned for this morning got moved to this afternoon and alas! I can post! Enjoy the new chapter!**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Seven**

"Hermione?"

That single hoarse word brought her out of a light doze and looking over to the man in the bed next to her. She moved so that she was now closer to him. Leaning over, she combed her fingers through his curls.

"You shouldn't be here," he breathed.

"I haven't any other place to be," she murmured, glancing at his nearest hand to find that it was preoccupied with an I.V. needle. She looped her pinkie finger around his, looking back to his face. "What happened?"

"Mary Watson," he told her, making her brows arch.

"Mary shot you?" she asked, clearly surprised. Thinking it over, she asked, "Magnussen is blackmailing her?"

He grinned. "In top form once again, I see."

She smiled weakly, trying as she might not to worry her lower lip. "I'll always have my moments."

He lifted his hand, covering her smaller one in it. "Don't we all?"

She relaxed at those words, as she went back to thinking about who shot him.

"Just how deadly is Mary?" she inquired, watching as his thumb slowly caressed the back of her hand.

"Very," he murmured, his eyes slowly drifting shut.

Needing to reassure him and herself as well, she told him, "I have your back."

Without opening his eyes, he said with confidence, "I know."

…

Hermione, in dire need of a loo, went off to see to emptying her bladder and was on her way back when she saw a woman slipping back out of Sherlock's room. Since her wards didn't go off, he should be fine. But it panicked her nonetheless and had her rushing over into his room.

"Where were you?!" he demanded, now clearly in pain.

"I had to use the loo and I put it off as long as I could," she told him, rushing over to his side. "What did that bitch do?" She looked over his medicine dispenser. "Turned down your pain meds." Looking over to him, she asked, "Do you trust me to put it back up again?"

"Let's get out of here," he said, struggling to sit up.

"Not wise, but understandable," she reasoned, as she helped him to get disconnected from the I.V. as well as the monitors. "Well, are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to guess?"

"I need clothes," he told her, ignoring the question.

Glaring at him, she looked inside her jacket finding clothing that would appear to fit a child's doll. It was with a snap of her wrists that the clothing unfurled to full sized men's clothing. He blinked at her, as she went over to him and began to help him off with his gown by untying it for him.

"I'm beginning to love that jacket of yours," he stated. "Can you get me one?"

"No," she told him. "As you wouldn't be able to utilize it to its fullest. It would be like getting a Jaguar with none of the bits that make them worth the blunt."

"Makes sense," he muttered, wincing as she helped him into a shirt.

She helped button up the shirt and helped him put a sweater on top of that. It was while she was straightening out his collar that she cleared her throat.

"The pants," he muttered.

"I know," Hermione sighed. "You're not well enough by half to hear my dirty thoughts let alone anything else and that's what would happen if I did help you with the pants."

That had Sherlock chuckling, even as he cupped her face. "Can you magic them on me?"

"Of course, but that's not as much fun," she told him. "Which is why my brain bypassed that option." Her face went a bit pink. "Sorry."

He pulled her to himself, kissing her fully on the mouth. Pulling back, he sighed, "There will be a time. Just not now."

Resting her forehead to his temple, she replied, "Okay."

Hermione finished getting him dressed, managing to get him out of the room—thanks to a notice me not charm. They ended up hiding out in the basement of the hospital.

"I need your mobile," he muttered, holding out his hand for it.

Handing her phone over, she listened as he texted someone.

"Who?" she inquired.

"Mary. I need to speak to her."

"What of John?" she asked, looking over to him.

He flicked her a look. "He must have some questions as to what's going on. He's not unobservant."

"Even so, what he thinks he wants and what he received are two very different things." She went into deep thought. "Does he even know what he wants?"

"I don't think he does," Sherlock told her. "He's addicted to adventure and danger much like you are to coffee and I to nicotine."

They slowly looked at each other and both smiled wickedly.

"What doesn't kill us…" she started.

"…makes us stronger," he finished and went back to looking at her phone. "I just texted John as you, telling him that I am stabilized, but in critical condition."

"He'll more than likely take Lestrade over to speak to you," she murmured.

"Expected." He flicked a look over to her. "I told him to meet me at the same time and place as Mary."

"There would be no easy way to find out," she stated. "Are you going to want me to keep him at bay?"

"Yes, if you must, but chances are that you won't need to do as such."

…

Hermione stood next to John in that long hallway, as he heard the truth about his wife. She wished she could offer him some sort of comfort, but knew he would never take it. He had to deal with this, one way or the other and he would have to do it on his own.

The lights came on where they were and Mary turned to face them. John stood up and went to face her, making her think of soldiers getting ready for the firing squad. She told him what she needed to quickly, each word like a bullet to his heart.

But then he turned and faced Hermione, asking in a hard voice, "Did you know?"

"Not the details," she murmured. "But I knew that there was…something."

"Bullshit!" he snapped. "You knew!

"John!" Sherlock yelled at him. "She's telling the truth!"

The doctor held up his hands, as if surrendering—but whether it was to the situation or Mary or even Hermione, no one was certain.

"I want to go back to 221B," John told them. "I want a drink and further explanation to all of this. And I will not take no for an answer!"

"You want someone to blame, is that it?" Hermione asked, her voice harder than any of them had ever heard it before. "Who wouldn't in this kind of situation? I know I would be looking for something to aim my anger at if I were in your shoes. But let me tell you, my nerves are wearing very thin at the moment. That added to my lack of coffee, doesn't bode well for you if you take that tone with me again. Do I make myself clear?"

"I don't have to…"

"_Do I make myself clear?!_" her roar had him backing away from her.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered.

Relaxing, she said, "Very good then. Let's be off!"

**TBC…**

**…**

**And that's another chapter sailing away on an internet cruise. Thanks for reading, reviewing, and following/favoriting. If I could, I'd be setting up coffee and cookies for everyone! Have a delicious day!**


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hello! I hope you're all having a beautiful day. If not, I hope at least your computer desktop screen has a beautiful image of one. Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Eight**

They arrived at 221B separately, having gone back in different cabs. Sherlock and Hermione got to the flat first. She went into his sitting room and stopped right away. Sniffing the air, she looked around the room and stopped at the fireplace. Sherlock watched as she kneeled down, picking up one of the pieces of coal and sniffed it. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, looking over to him. Dropping it back into the fireplace, she knew who had done the deed.

"Magnussen pissed in the fireplace?" She stood up, looking at him. "That wretched piece of garbage pissed in the fireplace." Taking a deep breath, she let it out telling him, "If you don't kill him, I will."

"Why?"

"The man has no respect!" she snapped. "No respect for anything and anyone that isn't him. If he wants it, he takes it. If he has to kill to get it, he hires someone to do it. Blackmail is a tool to him like a wrench or a hammer that can be used to get his desired results. He's filth."

There was actual sparks dancing in her hair now that had Sherlock amazed as he stood there, watching her. "He has you upset?"

"He pissed in the fireplace," she muttered. "Not because he was drunk or he couldn't control it, but to show you that he could." Her hard eyes went to his, saying, "He was marking his fucking territory. Even Diarmuid doesn't do as much and he's a dog!"

"We had him fixed," he reminded her.

This had both of them thinking that idea over in regards to Magnussen, shaking it off right away. She whipped out her wand and magically cleaned the fireplace.

Hermione smiled, feeling better now that it no longer smelt of burnt urine. Looking over to him, she said, "Now you. Sit down while I get you some potions for the pain and to heal you up. They're down in my flat. I'll be right back."

But by the time she found everything she needed to give him, John was there as was Mary. She looked so desolate sitting where she was. So incredibly disheartened by what John was saying to her.

"You have no one to blame for this but yourself, John," Sherlock told his friend. "You love danger. It's a part of who you are and you know it. What's more because you are, everything you have in your life now is that way because of it."

"Bullshit!" he raged. "You two are the exception, not the rule!" He pointed to Hermione and said, "She's the only normal one here!"

Hermione looked over to Sherlock, who said, "John, she's no more normal than a special forces soldier."

The good doctor looked over to Hermione, who said, "My godson Teddy claims I have some 'mad skills'." Frowning she added, "I don't know what that means, but I guess it's a good thing." Looking around, she asked, "Coffee? Okay." And she rushed out of the room.

"I must teach her how to lie one of these days," Sherlock muttered.

"Meaning she lied about having 'mad skills'?" John inquired.

"She knows what having them means," Mary whispered, looking over to John. "Anyone with a certain skill set does."

"Meaning she's a killer too?" John asked.

"You were a soldier," Hermione inquired as she walked into the room with the French coffee press and three mugs. "Did you kill?"

"Well, I was fighting in a war…"

"So was I," she murmured. "Different war, same results." Setting down the tray, she went over to Sherlock. She handed him a glass with the potions she had promised him disguised as water. "You must be thirsty."

"I am," he replied, drinking the water and letting out a long sigh, as the potions she just fed to him went to work. "Hermione fought in a war she can't speak about, worked for a nameless government agency only referred to as the Department of Mysteries, and has done business for my brother Mycroft in a private capacity. Did you ever once notice that she doesn't even have fingerprints?" He looked at John. "Trust me. She's not normal."

…

"Don't tell me you actually want to be normal," Sherlock said, pulling Hermione out of her thoughts.

"No," she told him, sipping on her coffee. "But there's comfort in the idea of being 'normal', I suppose. I don't think I've ever known what my normal is or could be, but for that brief one point six seconds before you told John part of the truth…" She looked over to Sherlock. "It was like finding a well-loved jumper that's more moth holes than wool. I'd never wear it in public again, but it was nice to look at before dumping it out."

That had him chuckling. There was a noise from the stairwell and John slipped into the sitting room.

"You're both still up," he breathed. "I-I didn't know…"

Getting to her feet, she said, "I'll get the whiskey and then you can talk through it all."

"Hermione, you shouldn't be drinking," John breathed. "You're still getting over the head injury."

Nodding she murmured, "You're correct, but you shouldn't be drinking alone and I'm less injured than Sherlock. So that only leaves me."

He gave a broken laugh at this. "I'll have whatever you're having then."

She brightened up. "Coffee?"

He shook his head no. "I'll have tea, thank you."

"Oh." She actually looked disappointed at this.

"I made her swear that the cup she's currently having would be her last cup of the night," Sherlock explained to him, as she went off to make the tea. "And the only tea she has is decaf, thank goodness."

"Have you tried getting her decaf coffee?" John asked in a low voice.

"Of course, but she knows it is just that after only one sip." He snorted derisively. "She knows Mrs. Hudson's decaf by the smell alone!"

She put the bottle of scotch and another of water on the table and proceeded to make two drinks—one for herself and the other for John. Handing it over to him she said, "I'm out of tea."

John frowned, only to have Sherlock say, "Now that I believe."

He took a sip of the drink. "Hmm, that's good. Where did you get it?"

"My friend Harry, you met him, buys me a bottle of it every May. Then he, Ron, and I go over to the Scottish countryside along with more than a few friends to visit graves." She sipped on her drink, as the two men looked at each other and back to her.

"What graves?" Sherlock asked her.

"The ones that we visit," she replied, gaining her a glare from Sherlock. Looking over to John, she asked, "Have you ever had to rebuild your entire life?"

He nodded. "After the war."

"Mary's no different…" She held out her hand to stop him protesting. "Just hear me out and I'll drop it. I promise." He seemed to settle as soon as she said so. "No one wants to be the one to do the dirty work. It's a right mess more times than not. And it leaves those doing it feeling all the worse afterwards. I don't blame her for not wanting to recount any of what she may have done."

"She could have told me!" he exclaimed.

"Over curry during a date? Or perhaps as a part of post-coital bliss?" Hermione asked him dryly. "I could see that being the end of the relationship, couldn't you, Sherlock?"

"Yes," he murmured. "Have you told her everything about yourself? About the men you killed and the women you've slept with…"

"So okay! I may not have been that forthcoming!" John muttered. "But it's not as if I'm a trained assassin!"

"Wouldn't it be grand if he were?" Hermione asked of no one in particular.

"I beg your pardon?!" John exclaimed.

"It just would make this whole situation easier to explain is all," Hermione said casually, looking back over to the fireplace. "What was the name of that woman that came to the hospital today, Sherlock?"

"Janine," he answered. "Why?"

"Hmm, I was thinking of what she would look like bald is all," she told him.

"Why?" John asked her.

"The bitch turned Sherlock's pain medicine off while I was off to the loo," she told him. "If I wasn't in a hurry to get back over to his side, I would have done so then."

John frowned. "How would you make her bald?"

She grinned. "I have mad skills." She looked over to a smiling Sherlock. "I still don't know what that means, but I've grown to accept it."

**TBC…**

**…**

**There's another chapter accounted for and sent out to you all! Thanks for reading! Please if you could, take the time to let me know what you think of the story. The feedback is most welcomed. Have a smile filled day!**


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hello! Here we are in the middle of the week. Hope this new chapter makes it a bit more fun. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Nine**

**_October…_**

"You do realize that I am going to have to beat you bloody now, don't you?"

Mary spun around to look at Hermione, who was sitting in her and John's sitting room. She had a to-go cup in her hand and was sipping on it, as she stared at the fireplace. Her brown eyes were contemplative and her posture utterly relaxed.

"I'm pregnant," she pointed out to the other woman.

"Oh I know, which is more than likely the reason neither one of us is on the ground bleeding, I'm sure," she sighed. "How are you doing with the morning illness today?"

"It was bad," Mary admitted, rubbing over her stomach in reflex.

"The stress isn't helping it any," Hermione told her, as she stood up. "Don't just stand there. You and I have a mission today."

Mary was looking at her startled. "What?"

"We're going to be making Janine bald."

Mary didn't know what to say to that. "Are you going to need me to hold her down for you to shave her head?"

Hermione shook her head no. "Nothing like that." She pulled out a vial of clear liquid. "Two drops of that into her tea and she'll lose all the hair on her head for two weeks. The entire contents of this could keep her head hair free for a year." She looked over to Mary, saying, "The bitch turned Sherlock's pain medicine lower while I was off to the loo." She pursed her lips. "I figure between what I did to her garden two weeks ago and her upcoming hair free state, I'd feel some sort of satisfaction." She paused. "No, I don't, but I would still like to see how this works and she's the best test subject I can think of."

Mary sniffled, asking, "You don't hate me?"

"Whatever for?" Hermione inquired. "I'm right pissed that you shot Sherlock—that I won't lie about. But you did what you did in order to survive." Her brown eyes went more intense. "Trust me when I say that I comprehend survival better than most."

Mary rushed over to her and gave her a big hug. "Thank you. You've been nothing but grand since I met you."

"You are very welcome," Hermione said, stepping back. "Now hurry up and get dressed! We're on a short clock!"

…

Sherlock frowned at the sight of a new e-mail with a video attached in his inbox. Curious he checked it for worms or viruses, but found none. Now absolutely needing to know, he pulled it up onto his laptop screen and found that it was surveillance footage of Janine at an outdoor café. Sobbing to herself, Sherlock could barely read her lips as she spoke to an older woman that he presumed was an aunt or her mother that her garden had died and everything that she replanted already look to be dying. A waitress came over, served them both more bottled water, removed plates and went on her way back into the café.

John came out of the other room, stopping at the sight on Sherlock's laptop. Frowning he asked, "Isn't that…"

"Janine. Yes."

A large clump of brown hair came out into her hand as she combed her fingers through it, making the woman scream at the sight. This happened over and over again, until Janine was absolutely hysterical.

Smiling slowly, Sherlock breathed, "She did it."

"What? You mean to say that Hermione was the one that did this? How?!" he exclaimed, as he watched Janine pulling her jacket over her rapidly balding head.

Laughing quietly, he stated, "Never doubt it, John. That woman really does have some impressive skills."

…

Hermione and Mary climbed into the back of the cab, laughing like a couple of loons.

"That was fantastic!" Mary crowed. "Where did you get this stuff?" She looked into the vial that Hermione had handed to her to slip into Janine's water glass earlier in the meal.

"Fred and George Weasley, otherwise known as the Weasley twins or the Hades twins depending on if they decide you need their special attention," Hermione told her. "They're notorious tricksters and they came up with this…" She took the vial from her. "…about five years ago. They had wanted to test it on me, but I told them if they wanted children in the future, they best be looking elsewhere for someone to test it on." She sighed heavily. "Poor Neville was bald for half a year."

Mary burst out laughing. "Oh that sounds fantastic. So will she be bald that long?"

"I did calculations for them and was able to come up with the correct dosage. So no, she'll only be without her hair for approximately a week." She grinned wickedly and added, "But it'll grow back a putrid shade of green that she'll have to shave off if she ever wants to get rid of it."

"Oh you are awful!" Mary stated, still laughing.

"I know," she said. "It was horrid of me. I was ready to let it all go, but then I caught sight of the gossip rags she sold her false story to." Hermione's jaw went hard. "I couldn't do so then."

Mary nodded in quiet understanding, but stated, "If you hated what she did, you must loath me."

"I hate what you did to Sherlock," she answered. "I comprehend why you did it and more than likely would have done the same as well. But I would have shot that fucker Magnussen first." Hermione took a deep breath. "Did you know he pissed in our fireplace? Our dog has better manners." She went into deep thought, as she said, "It's clear that I'm not going to be getting rid of this wrath over Sherlock being shot by talking it out."

"Pity," Mary muttered.

Smiling deviously Hermione said, "Want to have fun with the boys?"

Puzzled, Mary asked, "What do you mean?"

"Bait and switch," she told her. "And deception all the way around."

This had Mary smiling. "Do tell."

…

It had taken a couple of days to arrange, but finally, the plan was set. Added to this was the fact that Mary and John were working on their issues. They may not be in the same house, but they were talking daily and that was what mattered.

John seemed tied up with the mystery of how Hermione could have possibly made Janine lose her hair. The good doctor had asked Hermione several times how she had done the deed. She would only smile benignly and tell him every woman has her secrets and that this was only one of hers. Mary would only giggle madly like a child keeping a secret and say nothing about it. Sherlock, on the other hand, would flip the page of the book he was reading, look up from the laptop screen, or exit his mind palace long enough to roll his eyes and went back to whatever it was he was doing before.

On the day of what Mary and Hermione were now referring to as "The Event", John was coming over so that he and Sherlock could deal with something in regards to Magnussen. It wasn't the man himself, but close enough so that neither men wanted the women involved.

"So what would this rate?" Hermione asked him, as she was looking through her jacket.

"What we're doing today?" He thought that over. "It's not important, really, but it might prove helpful later…What are you looking for, woman?"

"Gloves!" She looked over to him. "I could have sworn I had a pair of gloves in here. A very nice pair, in fact." She worried her lower lip and muttered, "I might have accidently left them at the cottage…"

"Wait, what cottage?" John asked her.

"I own a cottage outside of East Anglia," she muttered, as she kept looking and ended up pulling out a book. "Oh, I had no idea this was in there."

Sherlock took it from her, flipping through the pages. "Why waste time reading this? It's nonsense!"

Snatching it back from him, she said, "It's Esperanto, not nonsense! The text itself, now that's utter balderdash."

"That's what I was referring to," Sherlock said dryly.

"Oh sorry," she said, looking over to him. "I'm so accustomed to those around me not having one clue about reading other languages besides English, French and German. True, I know a spattering of individuals that read Spanish and Italian as well. But they, my dear Holmes, are very few and far between. And all of them seem absolutely useless when it comes to Esperanto." She handed the book to him. "We could use it as kindling, don't you think?"

"It would be far better used for such, I dare say," he muttered, putting it by the fireplace. "Would you care to borrow a pair of gloves from me?"

"That would be excellent!" she told him. "I only need them for about five minutes."

"For what?" he asked.

"Oh you'll know it, when you see it," she replied as she followed him to his bedroom.

**TBC…**

**Another chapter has done its swan song! Thank you for joining me for the ride. I hope that you're liking it. Review to let me know. Thanks again and have a smashing good day!**


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**BONUS CHAPTER! Yeah, I have no reason for this other than because I want to do it.**

**Hello! Hope everyone is doing well. Wow! I've been getting a big response to this story. Thank you all for reading, reviewing, not to mention, following/favoriting. Your time is important and the fact that you are using it to read my story means a lot.**

**Please read, enjoy, and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Ten**

Mary arrived right on time, telling the cab to wait after handing him a twenty pound note. She went upstairs, going over to John and kissing him lightly on the lips.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her.

"Oh, I thought to invite Hermione to go shopping or something since you and Sherlock will be out and about doing detective work," she told her husband, as she looked around. "Where is she?"

"No, Sherlock, these are perfect," Hermione told him, as she walked over to where John and Mary were standing. "Oh good! You're here." She went up to the other woman and slapped her across the face with the gloves. John let out a startled yell and was prepared to step in front of his wife, but was held back from doing so by Mary herself. "I demand satisfaction." Tossing the gloves to the floor. She held out a piece of paper. "Meet me at that address in fifteen minutes! And don't you dare be late."

She left with her head held high only to rushed back over, pick up his gloves, straighten them up, and hand them back to Sherlock with a quick thank you. Hermione rushed out of the flat.

"Well, I best be on my way," Mary told them. "We'll be seeing you later on, right?" She kissed John. "Take care." She looked over to Sherlock and winked at him, as she went on her way out.

John stood there looking stunned. "What the hell was that?!"

"I don't know, but I'm following them!" Sherlock exclaimed, running down the stairs and soon enough the good doctor was on his heels.

As Mary got into the cab, she handed the address to the driver along with another twenty. Leaning back, she thought over what Hermione had told her to do.

_"__They'll be stunned at first. Take advantage of this time and move quickly back to the cab. Tell him to take you to the back entrance of the building. My friends will meet you there and take you to where you can watch the fight safely."_

_ "__Are you sure they'll follow me?" Mary asked her._

_Laughing she said, "Of course they will."_

Mary arrived early and managed to see that Hermione was already there speaking to a ginger haired woman as they were getting dressed in Kendo gear with help from others there.

"Are you Mary?" She spun around to face a dreamy looking blond. "I'm Luna. Hermione told me to take you up to where we're all going to be watching." She motioned the way over.

"Lovely to meet you, Luna."

The two kept up talking as they went upstairs, narrowly avoiding seeing John and Sherlock rushing into the building. They went barreling into what looked to be a small auditorium. Two people all in black from head to toe were on each end of a fighting area. They were each wearing what looked to be barred cages in front of their faces. One of them was stretching, while the other looked to be meditating. When John took a step forward, Billy Wiggins went over to them.

"Sorry, Gents, but the ladies need to have their business taken care of first before you go out onto the floor."

"Wiggins?" Sherlock muttered, still watching the two as they picked up their shinai in their kote covered hands and jumped from their sitting positions and turned to face each other. "What are you doing here?"

"Miss Hermione asked me to make sure that you two stay out of the fight zone," he told him. "They mean business is what she said and she doesn't want you two gettin' hurt tryin' to put a stop to this." He looked over to John. "They're well and truly padded from what I saw going into that locker room."

"Mary can't be fighting! She's pregnant!" John exclaimed, only to have Sherlock stop him this time.

"Wait," he breathed, watching them circling each other. "Just wait for it."

"But, Sherlock…"

"I know, John, but trust me. Wait."

The fight was hard jabs, swipes and hits. One of them was clearly more skilled than the other in this art form, but that didn't make them unequal opponents. What the other lacked in skill, they clearly made up in power. When one particularly hard blow fell on the other, John groaned.

"I don't even know who I'm rooting for!" he muttered.

The one that had received the blow jabbed the bamboo staff straight into the mask of the other, making them stagger backwards. They stepped forward and hit across the body of the other, spinning to block an oncoming blow. Twisting it around so that the other weapon was down and out of the way, they attacked again. This time hitting the arm with the bamboo weapon, disarming their opponent. The clear victor lifted the shinai and pressed it to just under their opponent's mask to their well protected throat.

They went onto their knees and removed their head covering, revealing a head of long bright red locks.

Panting and smiling Ginny looked over to Hermione. "I thought for sure I had you that time."

Hermione removed her head gear with a grin, putting it under her arm. "Better luck next time, Gin." She helped her to her feet and went over to Sherlock, John, and Wiggins. "I feel better now."

"Where is my wife?" John growled.

"Right behind you," Mary said, making him spin around.

Soon enough he had her in a tight hug. "I thought you were…I don't know!" He pulled back and asked the one question he could have sworn he had already asked several times. "What the hell was that?!"

"Really, John, do you really need it explained? I thought it was very clear what happened here," Sherlock said to him. "Hermione here was greatly upset over Mary shooting me and it wasn't like she could challenge her to a duel…"

"Her aim is better than mine," Hermione stated absently.

"Exactly," Sherlock went on. "And any other form of conflict resolution would have been too dangerous to your unborn child, unless Mary had a stand in…" He motioned over to the redhead, now off to the side drinking water with her daughter sitting with her along with several others there. "Which if you paid any attention was exactly what happened here." Sherlock turned Hermione around. "You're good."

"Thank you, but no. I am but a lowly student in the way of the sword."

He grinned, lowering his head. "Enchantress."

Hermione dropped the equipment, wrapping her arms around his neck as she gave him a sassy grin. "Anything less would bore you."

"Very true," he murmured, grinning as well as his arms went around her. "I'll see you later, Hermione."

"Be safe," she told him.

"Never," he replied, winking playfully at her as he pulled away. "Wiggins, see the women home."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes."

John gave Mary one last kiss and they took off to parts unknown. Hermione picked up her things, turning to all the others there.

"Whose up for some Chinese food?!" Hermione called out to everyone, receiving a cheer.

"Miss…" Wiggins started.

"Never fear," Hermione told him. "I have you covered."

Blushing he said, "You're already letting me stay at your cottage when I'm not working for Mr. Holmes."

"You're a brilliant man, Billy," she told him. "I'd be blind not to see it. If I had my way, you'd be going to university." His eyes went wide at her words. "And if you ever change your mind, you tell me. You can choose the school and study whatever you want. I'll pay for it all, including your room and board." He looked at her in shock at those words. "Intelligence should never be squandered. And with a degree, you could open doors you never even dreamt of before." She smiled. "And if there aren't any doors to your liking, you could always make a new doorway. Such isn't unheard of. Look at Sherlock."

Wiggins grinned shyly at this and proceeded to slip back into the shadows to watch over the women and children.

**TBC…**

**…**

**Another day, another chapter sent out to the internet. You guys are the bestest ever. Have a rockin' n' roll filled day!**


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hello one and all! Hope that all is well. Here's the next chapter! Enjoy!**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Eleven**

**_December…_**

Sherlock walked into Hermione's flat to see her surrounded by a plethora of Christmas gifts on the floor, as Diarmuid watched her from the lounge behind her.

"Should I give Billy 'Treasure Island' or 'Kidnapped!' for Christmas?"

"Why are you asking the dog?" he inquired.

"I was asking you," she corrected. "But if you think he's that good of a gift…" The dog pawed at the book 'Kidnapped!' and it had her laughing. "I thought so as well! Good boy!"

Chuckling Sherlock went over to her, helping her to her feet. "You need to start getting ready."

"For what?" she asked him.

"We're having Christmas dinner with my family."

She stopped and looked at him. Her brow arched, as she asked, "And will Mycroft be there?"

"Of course."

Smiling she murmured, "Good."

Now it was his turned to look speculative. "Why?"

"Now I know I can give you your Christmas present tonight."

He groaned and told her, "I said not to bother!"

"No, you don't seem to comprehend. This gift of mine isn't a gift of the heart so much as a gift of petty sibling revenge."

His blue eyes intensified. "Do tell."

"I made a chocolate trifle," she told him. "One that Mycroft literally will not be able to resist. Though try as he might to avoid doing so, he will take one look at it before taking up the dish and eating it in one sitting."

Laughing heartily, he said, "You do give divine gifts."

"Thank you," she murmured. "Now one last question—do I need to find a sitter for Diarmuid?"

"Yes," he replied. "Most definitely. Mummy would have a heart attack at the sight of him."

"Very good," she answered, taking up Diarmuid's leash. "James and Albus were complaining that I never leave off the dog with his parents when they're home from school. This should appease them greatly along with the gifts I already left off earlier today…" She paused. "Do you think pirate dress up clothes and swords are appropriate gifts?"

"Can they hurt themselves with it?"

"No."

"Then it's fine."

Hermione told him, "I got Lily a princess outfit and her very own cutlass as well. She'll love it!"

"And what of Dylan?" he inquired, as she hopped over the gifts on the floor.

"I got him a binky with a little Jolly Rodger on it, a head scarf, and a little hat with matching vest," she said, making Sherlock grin. "Ginny would have had kittens if I had dare given her youngest a weapon of any sort."

Diarmuid scrambled over to her and she hooked up his leash to his collar. "I'll be back and ready with time to spare. Just you see."

"Are you taking a cab? It takes…"

She only grinned at him. Kneeling down next to Diarmuid, Hermione blew Sherlock a kiss. Hugging the dog, she vanished from the room. He stood there blinking. One of these days, he thought, he wished she would transport him around that way.

…

As promised, Hermione was ready to go with minutes to spare. She came up the stairs carrying the chocolate cake, brandied cherries, whipped cream, pastry cream, and boozy concoction in hand. John was standing with Mary, who was straightening up his tie.

"Ah! My Christmas gift," Sherlock said with a grin. "Allow me." He took up the dish, looking it over. "All in one sitting?"

"I tested it on the Weasley twins and yes, this was confirmed. He'll eat it all in one sitting," she told him.

"Excellent!" he replied. "Everyone ready to go?" There was a horn honking outside. "Ahh, the cab's here! Right on time."

The two men rushed ahead, leaving the women to trail behind them.

"Why do I get the feeling they're up to something," Hermione muttered.

"More than likely because they are," Mary said, sounding exasperated. "But damned if I know what."

…

His father was drinking before they had arrived and was rather rude once they had gotten there. His "Mummy" was brittle and confrontational. Well, Hermione thought, it was little wonder the two Holmes brothers ended up the way they did. Hermione looked over to the dining table to see Mycroft glaring at her as he was eating the trifle. He wasn't stuffing his face with it, as the twins had—that would be too undignified—but he was doing a fair job of eating it quickly.

"So do tell me, Miss Granger, how is it that you know my son and how is it that you've come to be living with him now?" Mrs. Holmes asked drolly.

Hermione looked over to her, saying, "Is that your real question or just the build up to it?"

The woman blinked at her owlishly, before her eyes narrowed and she asked, "Are you a money digging woman of loose morals?"

Hermione turned and looked to Sherlock, who was watching her. "You have money? Really?"

"So I've been told," he said casually. "You have money as well."

"Yes, I do. But with the exception of books and coffee, I don't spend much," she replied. "No real reason to." She frowned. "How did you find out?"

"Bill told me that you offered to pay for his education. He asked if you had meant it. You did and you wouldn't have said as much unless you did have the means to do so."

Hermione nodded, sipping once again on her tea. Looking down at the cup in her hand, she heard his father let out a snore and Mary let out a sleepy yawn. "You drugged us, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," he sighed, taking the drink from her slacking grasp. "Let's get you comfortable, shall we?"

"You're an arse, Sherlock," she mumbled, as she lost the fight to keep awake.

"I know." Watching her for a moment, he leaned down and kissed her temple as his fingers combed through her unruly curls. Now all business he got to his feet and turned to John. "Let's go."

…

Hermione was woken up with the fact that Magnussen was dead and that Sherlock had done the deed. Mycroft looked furious. It was either that or indigestion (he had just polished off a trifle after all), but she had yet to discover which. It wasn't until he rubbed at his stomach that she had something of an answer. She discretely gave him something to relieve him of his stomach pains. It had meant to be a prank, not make the man seriously ill.

Sherlock, John, Mary and Hermione sat around the table with the sun coming up on the new day.

"I could have been charged with treason if Sherlock hadn't…" His head fell into his hands.

Hermione's lips pursed, but she said nothing as Mary was doing her level best to comfort her husband. Hermione sipped on her water that she had served herself, covertly watching Sherlock as he sat staring at nothing.

"He said his vaults were empty," Sherlock finally said.

"Do you think he did away with it or found a new location to store it?" Hermione inquired.

"New location," he muttered. "But whom would he trust with it?!" He hit the table. "That's where it gets me every single time! There's not a person on this planet he would have trusted with all of that information!"

"That would be the equivalent of putting all of his eggs in one basket," Hermione replied, thinking it over. "What if he didn't just trust one person?" This caught Sherlock's attention. "Magnussen never trusted anyone other than himself, but he thought he could do anything to anyone. He could have hidden the information as digital information anywhere in the world."

"Meaning?" John asked.

Mary thought that over. "You can't be serious! There'd be no way for him to do as you're saying."

"What?" John pressed.

"What's the one thing people are getting more and more?" She looked over to Sherlock. "What's it called? The fog? No, that's not it…"

"Cloud," Sherlock breathed. "He could have hidden all the information within different clouds on the Internet. It would have been child's play for him."

"But I doubt he would have gotten rid of the solid evidence," Hermione said. "And there's only two places on earth he could have felt secure enough to store it. One of them I seriously doubt Magnussen had any idea about and the other is the Cayman Islands."

**TBC…**

**…**

**Another chapter has taken its bow on stage. Thanks for reading and have yourselves a radical day!**


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Here's the next chapter up! Enjoy.**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Twelve**

Sherlock, John and Mary frowned, turning to look at her nearly as one unit.

"How is it that there's a bank that exists that one of the richest men in the world hadn't heard of?" Mary was the one to ask.

"I guess you're not going to be taking my word on that?" Hermione muttered. "It exists. Ask Mycroft, if you don't believe me."

"How many branches are there of this mythical bank?" John asked sarcastically.

"I know of five in the U.K., one in Paris, two outside of Bulgaria, one in Moscow, and another in Salem, Massachusetts," Hermione answered, as if John had been serious.

Mary worried her lower lip. "Are you speaking about Gringotts?"

"You mean to say they're real?" John asked shocked.

Hermione nodded. "Gringotts Bank has been around for longer than our combined ages, John. Why would I joke about something like that?"

"Gringotts? I've never heard of it," Sherlock said mostly to himself.

Mary cleared her throat and said, "I heard that it was run by…uh, goblins."

Both men looked over to Hermione, who rolled her eyes and muttered, "She wouldn't be wrong."

"That's madness…" The words caught in John's throat, as Hermione lifted her right hand holding a wand in it and hit him with a stream of water that erupted from the end of it and knocking him flat onto his back.

The three others stood up and looked over to John who was on the floor, soaking wet, and blinking up at Hermione in shock.

"I'm a witch," she told him. "And yes, there are goblins and they most assuredly run Gringotts Bank." She magically dried him and the floor off before sitting back down.

Sherlock thought that over. "That was the bank you broke into?"

"Yes," she told him. "And I must say that I hope Magnussen didn't know about them, least we have more issues than you think." Hermione put her wand away. "I have trouble walking on the sidewalk across the street from them without goblins freaking out and threatening to stick their dragon on me." She took up her water, draining it and muttering, "Again." She stood up to get more water. "It's been approximately fifteen years since that happened! And it wasn't like we did it out of malice! But no!" She served herself the bottled water and sat back down. "You steal one stinking goblet, using their own dragon to make your way out of that mess and they never let you forget."

John sat back down on his chair in astonishment even as Sherlock was grinning like mad. "That's brilliant!"

"Wait—you're Hermione Granger, as in the brains behind the Golden Trio?" Mary asked, looking amazed.

"And you would know this because?" Hermione asked her.

"My trainer was a part of the underground, getting muggleborns and neutrals out of the U.K. during both wars. He told me stories about the wizarding war." She frowned. "But he told me that the war started years and years ago."

"The first war ended when I was two," Hermione breathed. "The second started when I was twelve."

"As in twelve years old?" John asked. "You were a child!"

"Trust me," Hermione said flatly. "I know. The war didn't get bad until my fourth year of school. I was fifteen."

Sherlock took up her left arm, pushing back her sleeve and revealed her scar to the others there at the table. "She and her friends were captured and she was tortured when they were older." Hermione looked to Sherlock, who said, "I spoke to Harry. He told me."

She nodded at this, but said nothing.

"Oh Hermione," Mary breathed at the sight of the words there.

Hermione pulled her arm away and stood up. "Good night."

Sherlock followed her and found her going into his room. He watched as she stripped and grabbed up his nightshirt. She put it on, before taking off her bra.

"You're angry."

She looked over to him and nodded. "I could have helped you. Why didn't you ask me for it?"

"Then Magnussen would have known who you were," he said quietly. "There is no way I wanted him anywhere near you." Sherlock moved over to her, combing the hair out of her face. "He would have seen what you mean to me. And I couldn't have that."

She nodded slowly. "Very well. But just for future reference, I've been told that I can be a hellcat in a fight." This had him smiling. "I'm not being boastful. That's the truth."

"I know," he murmured, leaning down and pressing his forehead to hers. "My brother told me we're married on paper."

"Yes, I figured he did as much. He told me over the phone, 'You are his wife. Go.'," she sighed. "Want to see the ring?" He nodded. She held out her hand and it went flying into it easily with a silent summoning charm.

She handed it to him.

"This was the best you could do?" he asked, looking at the plastic skull ring one of her friend's children must have given to her as a gift.

"It was that or a ring top from a bottle of whiskey," she told him. "They were the only things in my pocket that I could find, as I stopped carrying wedding rings in my jacket years ago. John wasn't convinced in the least let me tell you. Not that I blame him. If someone had presented that to me as their wedding ring, I wouldn't be all that convinced either."

"John knows?"

"I had to tell your doctor I was your wife. John was there of course, but he thought I was lying."

He nodded to this, handing the ring back to her. "Remind me that I need to get you a new one when we have the chance."

"Okay." Hermione sat down on the bed, as he got ready for sleep. "Just a simple wedding band."

No sooner did he get into the bed then she turned to him and murmured, "Whatever happens next, I'm not leaving your side. The bastard had it coming."

His arms wrapped around her and he buried his face against her neck, allowing sleep to claim him for the first time in days.

…

Needless to say the next day, no one wanted to celebrate Christmas. No one that is, except for Hermione. She had woken up early, much to Sherlock's upset, and wrapped the gifts she had left unattended the day before. Soon enough she was popping around London and beyond, passing out gifts as if she were St. Nicolas himself. Mycroft received a goldfish he'd never have to feed (as it was spell craft) and Anthea was gifted with several vouchers to a spa that specialized in five to fifteen minute treatments. She was impressed and even told Mycroft that she had heard of them. Her friend had said that they could work wonders in very small amounts of time.

To Mrs. Hudson she gave Mrs. Weasley's top secret recipe for scones. Molly received a joke book of poetry about the human body written by the Weasley twins and a catnip toy for Toby. She gave Chief Inspector Lestrade a voucher for two to a lovely restaurant known for its quiet and calm atmosphere. Not to mention a bottle of the best scotch she could find. That last gift was mostly for putting up with the likes of Sherlock and they both knew it.

She gave John and Mary a voucher for babysitting services during the time they would be going on vacation for a weekend to the destination of their choice. Hermione included pamphlets to a bunch of different destinations that would make for excellent weekend holidays.

"A holiday? Anywhere?" Mary was shocked. "This is too much!"

"Nonsense," Hermione told her. "It's open ended and you can take it anytime you wish. I'm just sorry that it's only for two days not including travel time."

"How can you even afford this?" John asked her. "It must have cost a fortune!"

"It did cost quite a bit," she admitted. "But you see one of the side benefits of never going into a local bank is that I don't spend all that much money. I may not have money to burn, but I'm not hurting for it either."

All she did to find Wiggins was wait for him to join her at a coffee shop. She handed him the book along with several vouchers for different places for food (as Hermione was certain the man didn't eat nearly enough) and a plate of Christmas cookies.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Wiggins," she murmured.

He grinned, blushing as he looked at his haul.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course!"

She took out a file folder and handed it to him. "Give them out to the homeless network would you? I know they're out there, but I know none of them personally."

He looked and saw that there were vouchers for everything from food, clothing, and a hundreds of them for low priced hotels in and about London.

"Give everyone at least five of the ones for the hotels, but the food and clothing vouchers are at your discretion."

"Right," he murmured. "You're a good person, Mrs. Holmes."

Smiling she said, "That's the first time anyone's called me that."

"Really? You mean that they don't know?"

"It's all just paperwork," she told him. "Mycroft's doing to get around nonsense, I'm sure."

"Nah, you don't mean that. You're his wife. It's all over your face, it is."

She smiled. "Want to see the ring?"

He was still chuckling about the plastic skull ring when she left to go back home.

**TBC…**

**That's chapter twelve making its way through the internet! Thanks for reading. I hope that you're all having an extravaganza of a day!**


	14. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Here's chapter thirteen! Enjoy!**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**_February…_**

There would be no trial. It had been Mycroft's doing. What was worse was the fact that Sherlock would have to leave the country on a mission to Eastern Europe for MI6. As soon as this was said, Hermione began packing her things. Sherlock wasn't going alone, no matter what he may have wanted or wished. He had gone to face Magnussen without her and look what happened! Luna took in Diarmuid on the day they were to leave the country to Eastern Europe on a mission that was only described as one that they more than likely would never come back from.

Sherlock didn't believe in luck and Hermione had a hard time believing in a benevolent higher power on the best of days, but they did believe in their own abilities. And together, they could do anything.

This was something that she told Mary, John, and just about everyone else that tried to talk her out of going with him on what amounted to a suicide mission—Sherlock included.

Hermione stepped onto the small aircraft. It was well appointed, the seats were very comfortable, and far too small for her liking. That wasn't to say that a jumbo jet would have made her feel any safer, but smaller didn't equal safer to her either. Flying would be fine, if she were a bird. She was a witch. She didn't do well on brooms, flying carpets made her airsick, and flying beasts just made her all the more sure that she wasn't built to be in the air. Pushing it aside, she thought about how they were going to Eastern Europe. It had been ages since she had been there. Perhaps they could visit Victor while they were in the area?

Sherlock sat next to her, watching her vaguely looking about the cabin deep in thought about something, anything to get her mind off of the fact they were going to be flying. The door shut and the engines started. Absently he pulled out a ring box from his pocket and pulled out a delicate plain platinum band. Lifting her hand, he asked, "Will you be my wife?"

Blinking out of her thoughts, she said, "Yes." He slid the band onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

Hermione smiled at the sight of runes carved into it. "Did you get help from Harry?"

"Luna assisted me," he said casually. "Very odd woman."

She nodded. "But a good friend." Hermione pulled out a ring box then as well. "I suppose we were thinking along the same lines." She pulled out a wider plain platinum band, showing it to him. "Ginny ended up helping get this one. Will you be my husband?"

"What's in it for me?"

This had her laughing. "I am intelligent, witty, and wise beyond my years. I'm crazy enough to follow you into anything with only the bribe of coffee required. And I must have the patience of a saint not to have jumped you already sexually." She looked at him. "Seriously I came so damn close the night of John and Mary's wedding. So close."

"You fell asleep."

"I know," she muttered. "It was enough to make me want to go visit Moran in prison to kick him in the gut for keeping us awake that long hunting him down."

He snorted at that.

"That night you were in that drug den and me with a skull fracture…I don't even remember what got us going, do you?" She frowned. "The last thing I remember was getting rid of my knickers." She looked over to him. "You're an excellent kisser by the way."

"Thank you," he answered. "I can't say as I do recall much of anything, but I am fairly sure we were both participating up to a point."

She turned his face towards hers, "Will you be my husband? I'll never bore you. And if I do, I'll do everything I can think of to fix it."

A slow smile twisted his lips. "I will."

She slid the ring onto his finger and he saw the runes carved on the outside of the ring. "What do they say?"

"Bonded through friendship and devotion."

He frowned. "No mentioning of love?"

"That's on the inside," she told him. "Along with the protection runes."

That had him grinning. "You didn't want others knowing our business." He nodded. "I did the same on yours."

Sherlock leaned down to her and was about to kiss her when the screen flickered to life in front of them. Their eyes flicked over to where Mycroft was just staring at them with a bored expression.

"Mycroft's timing leaves something to be desired," Sherlock muttered.

"Remind me to send him a birthday cake next week," she whispered.

"It's not his birthday," he replied.

Smirking wickedly, she answered, "I know."

"Crafty woman," he purred and kissed her lightly on her upturned lips before turning to face his brother's image.

…

Hermione and Sherlock walked in tandem briskly towards Mycroft's secret office under the city of London. If someone were to ask Hermione where that could be, she wouldn't be able to tell them. Sherlock would be able to do so, to be sure; but given all the twists and turns and car changes, even he would be hard pressed to give exact details without much thought.

They were shown into a room to discover that it wasn't Mycroft's office, but a conference room. At one end of the long room was a large flat screen T.V. and sitting before it was Mycroft. Without a word, he hit a button on the remote in his hand and the screen came on.

On it was none other than Jim Moriarty. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he asked, "Did you miss me?"

Hermione drifted over to it, taking the remote from Mycroft to see if she could pause the feed. It failed and the loop went on and on. "Did you miss me?" was muted so now the only thing they had to deal with was the video.

"Did you digitally record it?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course," Mycroft answered sounding brittle. "Nearest we figure it this was recorded in…"

"Kent," Hermione breathed. "An upper class suburban family neighborhood." She looked to the brothers to see them both watching her intently. She turned back to the video loop watching it over and over again and breathed the one name that had the power of a thunder clap. "Jamie."

**TBC…**

**Ooh! Snap! OMG! Who saw that coming? Okay. All of you more than likely saw this coming, as you're all so darn smart. Thanks for reading and if you could, review. When it comes to mysteries, feedback is a must. Take care and have yourselves a beautiful day.**


	15. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**BONUS CHAPTER! I am so sorry for posting late, but I was having "Technical Issues". Meaning I had no way to post thanks to trouble with the site. Thank you so much for your patience.**

**Here we are at chapter fourteen! Wow. It feels as if our journey has just started. Review! Review! Review! Thank you. Enjoy.**

**…**

**Chapter Fourteen**

Sherlock charged over to her, making her look him in the eyes and demanded, "That's Jamie?"

She nodded. "Jamie Moriarty, but he told me he goes by the name Jim now."

"Why didn't you tell me his last name?" he asked in a low hard voice.

"Because at that moment, I couldn't remember my first name never mind his last one," she replied. "And when I did finally recall it, I was too busy being worried about you as you had been shot."

"But now you do recall it?" Mycroft asked her, studying her a moment before he muttered sarcastically, "Ah, the wonders of magical medicine."

Turning on him, Sherlock asked, "You knew?"

"He's the British Government," she told him. "How could he _not_ know?"

"Good point," he murmured. "So how is he a threat to you, brother dear?"

His eyes narrowed, as he said, "England needs you, not I."

"You _are_ England," Hermione said coolly. "Scoff and debate it all you wish, but that is the truth of it." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "And we're not gold fish." She stepped closer to him. "We're the sharks guarding its shores. And unless you want your shores unprotected, tell us exactly what's going on."

Pursing his lips he walked away, going to the doors of the conference room. Stopping he said, "Magnussen's blackmail material. It must be found. Chances are that Mr. Moriarty has it or access to it, as I received a letter from him with details no one should know…" He stopped, took a deep breath, and sighed it out. Turning slightly he went on with, "Personal information. In the broader scheme of things, the information means nothing…"

"But if they have that information, they have more," Sherlock said. "Other things that could matter, is that it?"

"Exactly," he muttered, turning to face them fully. "Find the stash and stop Moriarty."

With that he turned heel and left them there standing. Hermione turned to face Sherlock. "Want to get some dinner before you declare yourself on the case?"

"Yes, let's," he muttered. "And while we're having dinner, you can tell me all about your association with Jamie."

"That could spoil a meal," she told him.

He looked to her flatly. "I'll risk it."

…

Hermione took a few bites of her food, thinking over what to say to him. She put her fork down and began to absently tap out a melody in her head. Gathering her thoughts was so much easier to music.

"I met him the first day of my classes," she told him. "I had math that day. Advanced theoretical mathematics, though not my cup of tea was interesting in the fact that I had never done it before." She made a face. "I didn't like it, but it was a necessary evil if I had wanted my advanced degree. Jamie was in the class, sitting in the back. He was trying to avoid dealing with the professor, whom I was later to discover was his father. I didn't think much of Jamie one way or the other at first. We got to be friends over time. Or so I had thought. He drugged me one afternoon, telling me it was for the best seeing as I was just so very sad. He had no sooner left me there to die when Harry rushed to the rescue. He got me to St. Mungo's. He kept asking me what had happened. It was the final straw. I fell apart, telling him everything—what I was actually responsible for and what I wasn't. I was admitted into the psych ward where I finished my degree in ancient languages and symbols. I never did returned to Leeds. I didn't want to see him or his father."

"Tell me about his father," he murmured.

"He's a puppet master, if you will—a manipulator," she told him. "He needs to control everything. Needless to say the term Machiavellian comes to mind when thinking of him."

"How so?"

She looked over to him and said, "He was the head of the Mathematics department for five years. When they tried to replace him, he shot up his chosen successor's car. No one was hurt or killed, but the man was scared enough to pull his name from the pile of potential nominees for the post. No one was able to prove it was Professor Moriarty, but they weren't able to disprove it either." She took a sip of her water. "True, it could have been Jamie. I thought as much later, but he didn't care if his father remained the head of the department. No, Professor James Moriarty was the only one that cared who was in charge."

"Same name?"

"The Professor was always terribly vain in that regard. This wasn't helped by the fact that Jamie's mother was a mousy little woman with no imagination at all." she sighed, taking a bite of her food. "I heard that he attempted to switch universities a few years back. Brown, I think it was, in the United States. It didn't go well and he ended up back at Leeds before the end of term. Rumors abound, as you can well imagine. I heard from one person that he was now thought to be crazy. 'He's as mad as a hatter' was tossed about as well."

"Do you believe it?"

"The man has a mind that is impressive," she told him, thoughtfully. "He is very intelligent, but he is his own worst enemy." She took a sip of her water. "He thinks himself beyond the capability of being wrong. And when I say that I mean complete and total infallibility."

He scoffed at that. "That's absurd."

"I know," she said with a nod. "But no matter what he may do, he thinks he's in the right." She frowned. "He even went so far as to say he had the math to prove it too. I told him to show me the work. Needless to say, he didn't volunteer it. That was the last day I was in the class."

"Do you think his father had him poison you?"

"I could believe it if Jamie didn't hate him as much as he did," she told him. "They had a very explosive relationship." Closing her eyes, Hermione could just picture one of the conflicts. "'Jamie, me boy, you're about as useless as a tit on a man. Step away from the board and let someone who knows what they're doing take over.' Jamie proceeded to tell him that he was as useless as 'a man to any woman at all'. And that…" She opened her eyes, looking at Sherlock. "…was a mild row between them."

"What was a bad fight between them?"

"Jamie ran his father over with his own car after his father completely humiliated him in front of the class by telling us the story about his mother being institutionalized for schizophrenia. Broke his leg in two places, but he lived. I reasoned that Jamie tampered with the brakes before he did the deed in order to get away with it if he were to have killed his father doing the deed."

"Makes sense," he muttered. "Why didn't you tell any of the others Jamie's full name?"

She thought over telling him a lie, but ended up telling him the truth of it. "Because if anyone's going to kill him, it's going to be me." Hermione looked over to him, worrying her lower lip. "Do you think badly of me for wanting that?"

"No," he said quietly. "But you're going to have to stand in line behind me."

She nodded to this, but said, "Only if you finish that meal first will I wait for my turn."

He glared at her. "That's dirty pool, woman."

"Dirty pool is disappariting away, doing the deed while you are here finishing the meal, and pretending to be shocked once we see it on the news." She grinned at his scowl. "What I did now was only very mild nagging."

**TBC…**

**Chapter fourteen is away! Thanks for reading, reviewing, and follow/favorite. That means ever so much to me. You're all so very special. I saw this on a car today and I hope that I'm getting it correct. D.F.T.B.A. (Don't forget to be awesome)!**


	16. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Chapter fifteen is up! I can't believe we're nearly at the halfway point. Are you enjoying it? Review to let me know. I'm not a mind reader, after all, though it would be cool if I were. Well, up to a point. LOL! Enjoy.**

**…**

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Moriarty isn't dead?" John asked, looking between them as they worked on their computers. "And Hermione knows him from uni?"

"I finished accessing Janine's computer," Hermione announced. "She had more than a few Easter eggs in her collection of things, but they turned out to be Trojan viruses and the like rather than Magnussen's stash." She grinned, adding, "She's sold her cottage and moved to India."

This had Sherlock smiling. "I wonder why." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "Did you fix her yard? I would hate for whomever bought it to have to suffer the same fate."

"It was a hex," she told him. "And it wasn't so much on the yard, as it was on her. It will be ending in about two hours, as it was only a temporary spell." Her eyes narrowed. "I would have been fine if she had just kept her trap shut and not sold that pack of lies to the gossip sheets." Her hair sparked, making John jump at the sight of it doing so. "I hate gossip rags!" She let out a long sigh. She looked to John. "When I was a child, this so called reporter was calling me a harlot!" Looking to Sherlock, she added, "I had people I didn't even know throwing garbage at me and sending me booby-trapped hate mail." She pursed her lips slightly. "Even Mrs. Weasley believed her for a time."

"Who was the one that wrote about you?" Sherlock demanded.

"Rita Skeeter," she growled the name. "She's dead now. Having been trampled by the bulls in Pamplona, Spain at the running of the bulls."

"She ran with the bulls?" John was the one to ask.

Hermione smiled. "She literally was a beetle at the time of her demise. She can change forms. It's called being an animagus. Her form was that of a dung beetle. She was on top of a pile of crap listening in on Harry and Ginny's honeymoon when she was trampled to death by a heard of bulls getting ready for the run."

"Do you have an animagus form?" Sherlock inquired of her.

"No, sorry to say that I don't," she answered, as something on her laptop's screen caught her eye. "That is far too big to be just a virus." She looked up to her husband. "It's heavily encrypted."

"Break it," he told her.

She sat up straight and looked at him. "I have next to no experience with computers. The only reason why I've been able to do what I've done so far is because it's all math. This encryption is beyond my scope, Sherlock." She worried her lower lip. "But I may know someone that can help us with it."

"Who?" John asked even as Sherlock said, "It better not be my brother."

"Terry Boot," she told them. "We went to school together and he's a wiz at encryptions and codes." She closed up her laptop adding, "And best yet, he's at Leeds."

Sherlock jumped to his feet. "What are we waiting for?!"

She blinked at him. "For either John or you to call a taxi for all three of us to go. As there is no way I'm disappariting with two passengers going all the way over to Leeds. That's just asking to be splinched. And I don't know about you, I'm not one to look forward to losing any part of myself or others while in transit."

"Damn," Sherlock muttered, as John called for the cab.

Smiling she assured him, "Trust me, I'll take you for a spin sooner or later." She kissed his mouth. "I promise."

And of course that was when John saw their wedding rings. "You two are really married?"

She looked over to him, head tilted. "I told you we were. It's not my fault you thought a cheap plastic ring was less than convincing."

She excused herself to attend herself in the loo, leaving John there staring daggers at Sherlock.

"What?" the tall man asked him.

"You're married."

"Yes," he answered.

"To Hermione Granger."

"Holmes," he corrected.

"Right. Hermione Holmes."

"Exactly," he answered, just as Hermione rejoined them. "I'm glad we got that settled." The cab horn blew. "That's our ride!" And he rushed out the door with Hermione chuckling behind him.

John kept looking from one to the other. They didn't look like a married couple. They certainly didn't act like any married couple he knew. Hell, half the time he didn't think that Sherlock knew how to behave like a normal person never mind a married one.

"You expect me to believe that you two married each other?" he finally said.

This had them looking up from their mobile phones and over to him. It was a frowning Hermione, who said, "I could give a rat's ass what you think of me, but you shall not say a word about my union to Sherlock." She leaned forward, growling, "What we are and what we have together has nothing to do with you. You may not believe it, but I tell you who does—and that's his brother, otherwise known as the British Government, who passed the paperwork to the proper authorities."

Sitting back, John looked over to Sherlock. He was grinning broadly. "It never pays to upset my wife, John."

The former soldier was about to say something when it happened. Sherlock's hand covered hers, sliding his fingers through hers and absently caressed her inner wrist with his thumb lazily. Perhaps there was more to their relationship than he thought.

…

The growl that radiated off of Sherlock when he saw the man hugging his wife had John stepping between the two friends and his former flat mate. He put her back onto her feet, smiling broadly as they spoke about school and old chums and just about everything other than the reason they were there at all.

John cleared his throat, saying under his breath, "Calm down. The niceties must be gotten out of the way first. She knows as much, but they take time."

Finally, Hermione motioned for them to join the two. "Terry, I'd like for you to meet Dr. John Watson and my husband Sherlock Holmes."

Terry stared at them for a time before turning to Hermione and asked, "So the date is out of the question."

She grinned and said, "Don't make me have to hex you." She looked over to the other two. "This joker is Terry Boot."

He laughed. "Okay, okay, I get it. What can I do to help you again?" She whipped out her laptop and showed him the problem.

Frowning he looked at it and muttered, "This is the same code that they use for MI6." He looked over to her. "Are you sure you want this broken? What's inside could be…" He looked back at it. "…something best avoided."

"MI6, you say?" Sherlock asked, looking at the laptop screen. "We're done with him, Hermione."

She shut the laptop and smiled. "Thanks for the help, Terry."

"No problem," he murmured. "I don't get to see many of the old crowd, working in the muggle world as I'm doing."

She nodded. "Is Professor Moriarty still working here?"

He rolled his eyes. "Mad as a fucking hatter, but he's here. Thank Merlin he's no longer head of the math department. The last year he was in charge, most of the entire staff of the school threatened to quit if he wasn't removed from the post."

She nodded absently. "Still has the same office?"

"They could remove him from the lead position, but there was no way they were going to do anything more. Something tells me that they'll get him out of that office space when he's dead." He rolled his eyes. "He'd be just the kind to stay behind haunting it afterwards though." He shuddered. "What an awful thought."

**TBC…**

**…**

**Another chapter is completed its journey to the internet. Thanks for reading and have yourselves a fruitful and productive day!**


	17. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Just a quick note—a big thank you goes out to illachi, who let me know that I had misspelled Leeds! No excuses other than to say I stink at spelling. Thank you.**

**Chapter! Get your brand new chapter here! LOL! Thanks for reading, reviewing, and following/favoriting. I'm enjoying the posting of this and hopefully you guys are as well.**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Sixteen**

They stopped by the main offices for the math department where she was able to find out that Professor Moriarty was personally conducting class at that very moment. Sherlock decided that it was best to see the office first. They went over and before Hermione could saying or do anything, Sherlock was working on picking the lock.

"Why are you picking it?" Hermione asked him.

"How else would we get into the office?" John asked, looking over to her.

"Wait for it," she said. "Five, four, three, two, one…"

Sherlock leaped to his feet, spun around and demanded, "Don't tell me that there's a way for you to get into a room without picking the locks!"

Hermione reached over, tapped the knob with her fingers, and proceeded to open it. "Very well, I won't tell you."

The tall detective was silent a moment before asking, "The Chelsea theatre…"

"That door was unlocked before I even got near it," she told him, looking around the office and growing more confused as she kept looking. "Sherlock, get in here please. This office…you have to see it."

He went into the office and at once saw what had her frowning. There were books everywhere, but there wasn't a single bookcase. All of the walls were blank. There was no artwork to be had, though it was clear that at one time there had been. Bookcases that used to be there were gone, leaving the stacks of books that they saw everywhere in the room. He turned and was about to ask Hermione if she had a black light on hand to find her already searching through her interior jacket pockets.

"Pull the blinds on that other window, John," he told his friend. "I'll get this one."

She found the mag-light sized black light and waited until they were done with pulling down the blinds. Turning it on, she shined it onto one of the walls nearest to her. Numbers, words and symbols littered the wall and had Hermione gasping in shock.

"What is this?" Sherlock asked. "This isn't like any mathematics I've ever seen."

"It's arithmancy," she told him. "And you would have never seen it before, because you're a muggle." That had Sherlock turning to her. "As is the professor. So the question now is, how is it he even learned this much of a subject he isn't even supposed to know exists?"

They photographed the entire room under black light and left the room as quickly as they could. Sherlock decided against going to visit the professor, as they needed to know what he had been trying to solve or figure out. Once back to Baker Street, Hermione went downstairs and went straight to work on looking over the equations.

Dying to know what it was all about, Sherlock and John went down to see her less than an hour later. They stopped in their tracks when they saw that she had a large white sheet put up and a projector showing off the arithmancy they had taken photographs of in the man's office.

"I found the start of the equations," she murmured, knowing that they were both listening. "I've been figuring out how he learned of this." She looked over to Sherlock. "He must have done so by reading of it." He looked over to her. "Now what book did he learn it from is the question."

"Talk about impossible," John muttered.

"Not as bad as all that," she told him, lifting the remote and changing the picture to one several away. "That there tells me the book had to have been written pre-1843, as the Lawson Kettlepot deviation was proven incorrect in March of that year." She changed the picture again. "But it was a book written after 1678, as this wouldn't have been there before that year." She pointed to a zero, smiling as she did so. "Zeros weren't used in any magical texts whatsoever until a very influential maharaja came into the western magical world and insisted that it be used as it was not only convenient, but showed just how backward they all were by not doing so." She looked to John, adding, "Needless to say they didn't like that."

"I bet," he muttered.

"They started using the zeros right away," she told them. "Cursed him dead with seven different hexes if gossip is to be believed, but they still started using the zeros. Rumor has it he's a ghost in the Tower of London."

"So you have it narrowed down between 1678 and 1843," Sherlock murmured, but then he looked at her smiling. "You know what book he has." She nodded.

"There's only one book written between those years that could be mistaken for a muggle publication." She turned on the lights and went over to one of her piles of books, pulling out a faded red book and tossed it over to Sherlock.

Catching it easily, he read the title aloud. "_The Beginner's Guide for Children Learning Arithmancy_."

"He must have either picked it up at a boot sale or a used bookshop that didn't know what they had," she told them. "It's the only thing that makes any sense."

"Can you please tell me what Arithmancy is and how it is in fact magical in nature?" John asked her.

"Arithmancy is using mathematics and ancient symbols to tell the future or figure out different outcomes," she told them to which Sherlock snorted. "Scoff all you want, Sherlock, but it actually works." He looked at her. "I don't believe in divination. It's a load of garbage! More times than not what the prophecies amount to are self-fulfilling nightmares." She held up her hand to stop him from protesting, "But Arithmancy calculates odds, takes into consideration variables, and in the end is far more accurate than anything a supposed soothsayer could come up with."

Sherlock looked back at the book and back over to her. "Show me."

Hermione brought out her white board from the closet and wrote out the first equation that Professor Moriarty had attempted to do without magic. But unlike him, she had done it correctly. She turned to them.

"This is what he tried to do," she told them. "He was calculating the success of attempting to rob the Bank of England."

"What?!" John exclaimed.

"What told you that?" Sherlock asked her.

"Picture six, bottom left corner."

He pulled out his mobile and went to the picture in question. He magnified it and muttered, "Gaelic." He looked to John, showing him the picture.

He looked at it and muttered, "The arrogant bastard wrote it outright in Gaelic."

"Exactly," she murmured. "Now this is where he went completely wrong." Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped the board.

"Oh my God," John breathed, as the figures began to rearrange themselves.

Words formed and vanished. Numbers were calculated—some becoming larger and some disappearing altogether. Until finally it all seemed to settle into a pattern that had Sherlock breathing, "Beautiful."

"Arithmancy," Hermione said quietly. "It's a wondrous thing. I believe in it like a religion some days." Sherlock looked to her, making her chuckle. "When it gives me the answers I want or need. On other days, I call it a traitorous bitch."

That had him smiling, as he turned to look at what was in front of them again. "And what does that tell you now?"

"He was wrong," she told him. "There's too many variables that he never took into account. This added to the fact that he didn't take it to any sort of conclusion."

"Can he rob the Bank of England?" John asked her.

"Certainly he can attempt to do so," she said casually. "Now ask if he could live through it." Sherlock glanced at her and Hermione shook her head no. "According to this 99.8% of the robbery crew will more than likely perish during the attempt. And the leader of the team won't see another day guaranteed. I doubt anyone could live through this fool's mission he came up with. But the arithmancy tells me that the inside man will survive, but that's more due to dumb luck than anything else."

Sherlock moved closer to her, asking, "Just how many languages to you know?"

"Five approximately," she replied. "Three I know fluently and the rest I can only read. Not to mention that there are a few that I only know enough to get myself into mischief with." She tapped her mobile's screen a few times and showed it to him then. "For the rest, I rely upon my smartphone's translator."

That had him grinning. "Impressive."

"Oh the things I could say at this very moment," she muttered.

"Like what?" the tall man asked her.

"Somehow I don't think you want to hear it," she replied, as they all began walking towards Sherlock's flat.

"Just tell him," John said. "You never know…"

"Okay." She turned on the stairs in front of Sherlock and looked him directly in the eyes. "If you think that's impressive, you should see me tie a cherry stem with my tongue."

Holmes only rolled his eyes, muttering, "I knew about the dexterity of your tongue after the first time you kissed me." He rolled his eyes. "How could I not?"

John tripped and fell at the foot of the stairs at hearing his friend's words. His eyes flicked over to Watson, who was pulling himself off of the floor and dusting himself off. Sherlock gave her a saucy wink that had her laughing quietly, as they started up the stairs once again.

**TBC…**

**…**

**And there's another chapter finished. Thanks for reading and have yourselves a generous day.**


	18. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**A big thanks goes out to jetsamsrule31 and Xxchristabellex for letting me know I made mistakes in the last chapter. It would appear I put the wrong word (two different incidents of this with two different words) that may have sounded like the correct one, but weren't. I may not like when things like this happen, but I'm lucky enough to have awesome readers to let me know in the nicest way possible. Thanks!**

**Here's another chapter up. Enjoy!**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Why?" This one word from Hermione broke Sherlock out of his thoughts and had him looking over to her, sitting across from him.

"Why what?" he asked.

"Why would Professor Moriarty have all those equations on his walls?" she inquired. "And all of them had to do with one crime or another—all of them being crimes I've never heard of being committed." She handed him papers with all the translations that she did from the arithmancy problems. "The Bank of England hasn't been robbed in the fashioned described, the crown jewels haven't been stolen, nor has a head of state been assassinated. But he had a reason for having all of those equations being on his walls and I can't think of one reason as to why."

"Was it his writing?" he inquired.

"I'm fairly sure it was," she murmured. "Trouble comes with the fact that his writing was quite ordinary, meaning his writing had nothing about it that made it stand out or could make a person say with a hundred percent certainty that it was his." Pulling out her phone, she looked at the pictures that Sherlock had E-mailed to her of the walls of the office. "And there was the fact that just about any of his T.A.s could copy it without issue as well."

"Do you think one of his teaching assistants did that?"

"Not if they wanted to live," she muttered. "His office is sacrosanct to him." Setting the phone aside, she asked, "So Jim is a consulting criminal? What is that exactly?"

That had him chuckling. "That is pretty much what you think it is."

Frowning she inquired, "Other criminals consult with him on how to do what they wish?" Hermione thought that over, worrying her lower lip. "Like say a solicitor who wants to kill four former clients that fired him and thusly he sees as responsible for him losing his position within his law firm?"

That had him sitting up straight. "What do you know and when did you figure it out?"

"Jim was at the Chelsea Theatre," she told him. "He was snapping. I never saw him, but I know his snaps when I hear them. I played him that piece of music. He snapped in time. Then did this counter beat snapping as well. No one else I've ever played it for did that. I looked up to see if he was there, but he had walked out by that time. Then I got a good look at you swinging over my head and I nearly had a heart attack. So needless to say, Jamie or Jim or whatever the hell he calls himself was right out of my head at that point." She served herself some more coffee and sipped on it. "And I just figured it out now. Unlike you the usual things I deal with are numbers." She looked at him. "I don't know how you do it. Even irrational numbers are more logical than people ever will be to me."

Sherlock was still chuckling as both Mary and John came in, looking about ready to explode with joy.

"Ah, they were told they're having a girl!" Hermione declared, getting to her feet and putting her coffee aside and rushed over to Mary. She hugged her. "I know the absolute perfect shop for you. They have this nursery set that's cute without being nauseatingly pink."

"Thank god! You speak sense!" Mary cried, laughing. "John, bless him, was going on about pink and ruffles!"

Hermione pulled back, giving John a teasing wink. "Oh, I can see pink camo working."

"You brat!" John said laughing, as he looked over to Sherlock who was smiling. "We were told we're having a girl, but as usual both of you already knew."

"I knew from the look of her," Sherlock said.

"For all you knew it could have been that the baby was being carried high or was a tall infant," John said.

"That's bunk," Hermione said casually. "Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea, please," John replied. "Then how did you know?"

"That would be telling," she said, as she got to her feet. "Did I put it up here or down in my kitchen?"

"Up here," Sherlock answered. "You didn't want it in the way of your coffee storage."

"Thank you," she called out, on her way over to the kitchen.

John looked to his friend who rolled his eyes and said, "She more than likely used a spell, but chances are Mary would have told you by now if she had."

"Sherlock! I think I found that spleen you were looking for!" The tall man leapt to his feet and rushed out of the room to see what she had found.

"How can he be so nonchalant about it, I'll never know," John muttered.

"About what?" his wife asked him.

"Magic," he told her. "There's this whole world we just found out about and he takes it in stride, as if he always knew about it. Doesn't it upset him that it was kept from us? I know I am."

"In other words, it should be right out there for everyone to know?" Mary inquired.

"This isn't a spleen," came from the kitchen.

"What is it?" she asked as she was taking the tray out into the sitting room.

"A gallbladder," he told her.

"Ooh, I want to look at it after pouring the tea!" she declared, even as she was walking away.

"Can you tell me why magic is a secret?" John asked Hermione.

"Oh, it goes back to the statute of secrecy and why they instated it. The law was put into effect back in the day, as a result of massive witch killings by paranoid non-magicals," she told him, as she played mother. "The year before the statute was put into effect, it was speculated that well over one hundred thousand worldwide had been murdered just within the magical community alone. The killings were horrendous in the fact that most of those killed were young people. And when I say young, I mean children. And then there were the women…"

Shaking her head, she handed off a tea to a shocked John. "Women and children were targeted, as they were weaker. True, there were some men as well, but the majority were as I stated. If this had continued it would have meant the complete eradication of the humanoid magical community." She handed Mary her tea. "And with them, what else would have fallen next? Complete magical plant species, animals, and a whole world of creatures I can't even begin to describe all gone because of fear of the unknown." She stood up. "And that fear remains today, John. It would be foolish to say otherwise. Can you imagine the reaction if it were to be discovered there was, say, a dragon preserve next door?" She sighed heavily. "People freak out over tiny lizards in their homes, never mind that!"

"There are dragon preserves?!" John exclaimed.

"Certainly," she answered. "One of the biggest is over in Romania with the next biggest one being in China. There are much smaller ones in Russia, Great Brittan, the Netherlands, Africa, and the United States."

"Where in the U.K.?" came from Sherlock from the kitchen doorway.

"I haven't a clue, but I heard that it was on one of the upper isles north of Scotland." She held out a tea to Sherlock. "But I would have to ask Charlie Weasley for that information to know one way or the other."

"Charlie Weasley?" Sherlock asked, sounding neutral as he inquired.

"One of Ron's older brothers," she said. "Do you want the tea or not?"

"Not," he answered. "And what does he do for a living?"

"He's a dragon handler over in Romania."

Sherlock relaxed at those words. Not that Hermione noticed this at all, but John and Mary certainly did.

"Charlie's sweet," she murmured, sipping on the tea and making a face at the taste. "But he only knows how to speak about sports and dragons." Rolling her eyes, she muttered, "He can't be bothered with learning anything beyond what he needs at that moment and is as dull as dirt."

Sherlock was grinning now, leaving John in shock. Sherlock was jealous? He had thought magic was stunning, but it had nothing on this new bit of information!

**TBC…**

**There's another chapter singing its swan song. Hope you liked it. Thanks for reading and have yourselves a healthy day!**


	19. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Eighteen**

The day started out lazily—well as lazily as it ever did in the Holmes household. Hermione was practicing her knife throwing at an old picture of a nameless man pinned to a dart board and Sherlock was looking through the internet quickly skimming through the news for that morning.

The whistle and thunk of the knife hitting its target barely intruded into Sherlock's mind, as he was completely entrenched into what he was reading. Hermione's mobile rang in the middle of her throw, which had her absentmindedly throwing it into the wall rather than the picture. Cursing to herself, she went over and answered the phone.

"House of knife jugglers," she answered, which gained a snort of laughter from Sherlock. "Hermione Holmes speaking."

There was a moment of silence followed by, "You _married_ him?" came from Ginny.

"According to the paperwork and the rings, yes," she answered. "It was a very private affair, not many were invited—including the bride and the groom."

Ginny took a deep, hopefully calming breath, and said, "Only you would get married in such a way."

"It was lovely," she answered. "There was no having to pick out flowers or colors or any of that other stuff I think is best left to…not me."

"You told me before it was best left to the wedding planners who were as brain dead as they came and they got paid well despite their lack of intelligence," she said sourly.

"Yes, and I was right, wasn't I?"

Ginny tried to stayed pissed, but couldn't. "You were."

"So what's up?" she asked her, going over to the knife sticking out of the wall and pulled it out.

"I need for you to come get your dog. Luna dropped him off when she and Rolf had to go to Norway," she told her. "And we're leaving the country tomorrow to go to a symposium over in Bulgaria. It's going to be pretty busy, but I can't be tending Lily, the symposium, and the dog…"

Hermione looked at her watch. "This might be tricky. Mary's due any minute now. I'm thinking she's going to have the baby today before noon and Sherlock is positive she's going to have the baby after three in the afternoon."

"Can you pick up the dog?"

"Yes, I'll come over to pick up Diarmuid right now," she told her. "I'll be there in a wink."

She had no sooner than hung up then she found herself face to chest with a very insistent consulting detective.

"I want to come with you to get our dog," he told her.

Hermione tilted her head to study his face. "You want to know what it's like to magically travel somewhere." She nodded. "I figured you would, but do you want to go by floo or apparition?"

"Floo?"

"You have to see it," she told him. "Come on!"

He followed her down the stairs and into her flat. She shut and locked the door behind him and took him over to her room. Up against a wall that he had thought she had kept plain for a future project an old fashioned fireplace materialized with a flick of her wand.

"Think of a floo as a really odd combination of a highway, a slide, and the Tube." She lit the floo and tossed floo powder into it, calling out, "12 Grimmauld Place!"

She proceeded to stick her face into the floo. Ginny, as expected was there waiting. "Hello!"

"Hello," she said. "I'm bringing Sherlock through. It's his first floo trip."

"I'm stepping back!" Ginny told her. "Come on through when you're ready."

Hermione pulled back and looked over to Sherlock. "You ready to go?"

He looked at the green fire and asked, "Is this dangerous?"

"Not really," she murmured. "The last accident I heard of was more due to a speech impediment. The poor bastard accidently sent himself to a hunting box in the middle of Siberia. They didn't get injured due to the floo, but rather they froze to death as they were in the middle of nowhere with no wand because they lost it on the way and it was in the middle of winter." She took his hand. "You're not going alone. And if we do end up somewhere we shouldn't, I'm sure we can get through anything."

A small smile twisted his lips. "You keep saying that."

"Because it's true," she murmured.

A minute later they popped out of the floo at Grimmauld place, excitement glowing off of Sherlock's face.

"That was fabulous!" he exclaimed. "I want to do it again!"

"I knew you would like that," Hermione replied, smiling toward Ginny who was holding Diarmuid's leash.

The big dog greeted them both happily and soon enough they were on their way to finding a cab back to the flat, as she refused to take the dog via the floo and the three would have been too much for her to take via side-along. They were in a taxi and well on their way back over to the flat when Sherlock received a rather frantic phone call from John.

"The baby! Now! St. Barts!" And he hung up.

Sherlock looked at the phone and murmured, "Apparently we were correct on the day she was going to give birth. Still want to bet on the time?"

She looked at her watch. "It's now nine-fifteen a.m." Hermione smiled and said, "My times are any time from now until twelve-thirty and you have from one-thirty onward."

"What if she gives birth during that window between our time blocks?" he inquired.

"We use it to anonymously open a college fund for her," she said.

"We would have anyway," he pointed out to her, leaning forward and telling the driver the change of location.

"Yes, I know, but this way we can be wrong and yet we can totally deny it."

He sat back, thinking that over and ultimately said, "I like that."

She casually scratched the big dog behind his ears and said, "If asked, we can always say that's when Diarmuid thought Mary was going to have the baby."

Sherlock only rolled his eyes at that and went back to texting. It was in the middle of one of the texts that he received back that he started to frown. She looked over to him.

"What's the matter?" she asked him.

"This text from Molly," he muttered. "It's off."

Hermione thought that over. "Do you think it's Moriarty?"

"Could be," he replied.

She was silent a moment. "What's your plan?"

A slow smile graced his face, as he murmured, "Do you have a pair of sunglasses in that coat of yours?"

She began digging through her coat and found an old pair of Harry's glasses. Changing out the lenses to plain glass and shading them so that they now could pass for a pair of high end sunglasses, she handed them over to Sherlock.

He slid them on himself, as he asked, "Do you think Diarmuid can pass for a guide dog?"

She looked over to the dog, who was now watching her intently. "Seeing as he's an Irish wolf hound and not what anyone would call a typical guide dog? No, not even close."

He ripped the glasses off and muttered, "I was afraid of that. I guess we'll have to go with plan B."

"I know this is the boring way to do it, but shouldn't we see what's going on before we go into it?" she asked him.

"Fine! Be conventional," he told her. "But you'll see, there's something wrong."

"I never said that there wasn't," she replied. "All I said was that we should see what it is before we use any plan—be it A or B! For all you know, we'll be reduced to using plan D."

His lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "Heaven forbid, not plan D!"

**TBC…**

**Ahh! What's happening?! Who texted Sherlock? What could be going on in the hospital? And what is plan D? Tune in tomorrow and find out (dum, dum, ****_DUM!_****)! LOL! Yeah, I totally love the old time radio shows nearly as much as I love cliffhangers. I will say this much though—I haven't a clue what plan D is and something tells me they don't either. Thanks for reading and have a generous day.**


	20. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hear ye! Hear ye! Please stand for the posting of the next chapter! (laughs) Yeah, it's one of those days. Thanks for reading! Enjoy.**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Nineteen**

Hermione placed a notice me not charm as well as a disillusionment spell on Diarmuid. She had told him he'd best behave or there would be no liver that night. Standing up, she looked over to Sherlock who was frowning as he was watching her.

"I know. I cook better for him than I do for us."

That had his lips twisting into a small smile, as they walked into the hospital. They went up to the maternity ward and straight over to Mary's room.

"Breathe, darling!"

"I! Am!" Mary snarled.

"Ah, the joys of labor," Hermione said quietly. "If I ever get pregnant, drugs will be heavily involved."

John's eyes crossed as Mary's grip tightened onto his own hand with a force that made both observers wince.

"For both of us," Sherlock replied.

Hermione went over to John, waiting for the contraction to release Mary to act. She pried Mary's fingers free of John's now discolored hand. Handing a potion to John, she murmured to Mary, "Focus on the clock. Keep breathing, as you do so."

"What's this?" John asked.

"For your hand," Hermione told him. "Drink it."

"But…"

"Do it, John," Sherlock told him. "It'll help."

"Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth," Hermione whispered to Mary. "In, out. In, out."

Mary relaxed at her words, as she did as she was ordered. "That last one was bad."

"The pain is gone!" John exclaimed.

"That's good," Hermione said. "Mary?" The other woman's blue eyes went to Hermione's amber ones. "Do you want me to put a cushioning charm on his hand to keep you from hurting him inadvertently?"

"Yes," Mary said adamantly. "Do it."

Hermione made quick work of it, before looking over to Sherlock who was speaking very quietly with John. The former soldier was looking very pulled together—far more so than she would have thought. But then again he was the type to flourish under pressure. Hermione looked back over to Mary, who was watching her intently.

"I hope you don't mind, but I told the hospital that I was your cousin," she murmured.

The woman smiled. "I don't mind that at all."

Hermione took up her hand and breathed, "There's something going on here." Mary looked alarmed. "I'm leaving Diarmuid here with you. Not to worry, he'll take good care of you and John. And he has a spell on him to keep his fur dirt and dander free. Great for people with allergies."

Mary's eyes went wide at her words. "Can you put that on a cat?"

"Certainly," Hermione assured her. "We need to see what's going on with the rest of the hospital, but we'll be checking on you every chance we get."

Hermione went over to Sherlock, saying, "Where did the pretend Molly want you to meet her?"

"The roof," he muttered, looking over to John. "Do you have a sidearm for John to use?"

"What's your preference?" she asked the former soldier. "I have several to select from—a Smith and Wesson .38 revolver, a .9 mm Desert Eagle, a .45 Berretta…"

"The Desert Eagle will be fine," John cut her off.

She nodded, as she went looking through her jacket and pulled out a machine gun by accident. "Whoops! Talk about overkill." She slipped that back away and pulled out the Desert Eagle along with several clips of ammo. "Here you go."

He looked from them to her in shock. "You have an arsenal in that jacket, don't you?"

It was with a blank face that she said, "I cannot confirm or deny that statement." She smiled, asking, "Do you want a silencer for that?"

"No, that won't be necessary," he replied dryly. "And to think I thought you were the normal one of us."

"Oh John," Hermione sighed. "No one worth their salt knows what normal is. It is what you make it, after all." She went over and kissed Mary's cheek. "Keep an eye on John and have the baby before 12:30 if you could."

Laughing the pregnant woman replied, "I'll do my best."

"Don't listen to that," Sherlock told her. "Take your time. Shoot for after 1:30, Mary."

John was now glaring at them both. "You placed a wager on this, didn't you?"

"Of course!" Hermione told him and looked over to Diarmuid. "Keep the bad people out. Guard John, Mary, and the baby."

He gave a quiet bark that had John looking around the room. "I could have sworn I heard your dog!"

"You did," Hermione replied. "Between you and the dog, Mary and the baby will be as safe as houses." She hip bumped John and he could now see the dog. "We can't have you shooting our dog by mistake."

"He can't be here!" John exclaimed.

"He'll protect Mary and the baby," she told him. "More than likely during a time you can't or don't know you'd have to. What say you now?"

He stared at the dog. "He's clean?"

"Very," Sherlock replied.

"Fine, but no jumping onto the bed!"

That had Hermione looking at him flatly. "Diarmuid has manners!" She went over to Sherlock, hugged him, and the two popped out of the room before anything else could be said.

John and Mary blinked in stunned silence as they stared at where their friends once were. Turning to look at his wife, he said, "Remind me never to upset her."

…

They had popped back into existence in the women's loo down the hall from where the morgue was. Letting him go, she went over to the door and peaked outside to the hallway. It was clear from what she could see. She turned back over to Sherlock and saw him there looking around the room in awe.

"We popped into a different room," he breathed.

"Yes," she replied. "It's called apparition."

"And that tugging behind my navel that I felt?"

"Perfectly normal," she told him. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine," he said.

"Are you all there?" That had him looking at her startled. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Please tell me that was a joke."

Wincing, she muttered, "I can't." But she went over to him, cupping his face. "But never fear, it's only happened to me once. And the circumstances were far more dangerous than what's going on here." She went on her tiptoes, kissing his lips lightly. "You in the lead?"

Smiling slowly, he murmured, "But of course."

He slipped out of the bathroom and was halfway to the morgue when he heard a body hitting the floor behind himself. He turned and glanced down to see a man in full body armor lying prone on the floor.

"Turn around! Hands up!" came from in front of him.

Sherlock faced him with his hands up in the air as ordered when he felt Hermione's arm going around his body and he saw the man holding the gun on him hitting the floor out cold.

He watched as the man's gun was kicked away from him and soon enough he was hogtied and gagged. They were over to the morgue seconds later and they saw what the problem was. To say that Sherlock was shocked to see Irene Adler standing casually next to Molly with a gun pointed on the terrorized pathologist was an understatement.

"Long time, no see, Sherlock," she chimed. "You weren't expecting me? Well, I had to do something for a living."

One minute she was smiling at him like a Cheshire cat and the next Irene was on the floor out cold. Hermione reappeared from behind where Irene had been standing and undid the bindings on Molly even as Sherlock was taking the gun from the unconscious woman's limp grasp.

She went over to him saying, "I will have the story of her." Her face was hard and she looked far more pissed than he had ever seen her before. "And I'll have the truth of it."

"She means nothing to me," he said. "She was an amusement."

"Sexual?"

"For her, not me," he told her.

Letting out a long breath, Hermione relaxed. "Help me tie her up, Molly."

"Why me?" she asked.

"Because you won't strip her, hog tie her, and put her into the freezer," Hermione said.

It was a glaring Molly that muttered, "Oh yes I would."

Smiling, Hermione murmured, "I knew I liked you."

**TBC…**

**There's another chapter down and out. Thank you for taking time out of your day to read this. If you could, please review. It would be much appreciated. Take care and I hope you all have an unbelievable day.**


	21. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**BONUS CHAPTER! It's Thursday. I'm feeling generous. The Blacklist is on tonight. I have chocolate. Take your pick!**

**Hi! Hope you guys are doing well today. Thanks for reading my story. Enjoy!**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty**

Between the three of them they got her tied to a chair and gagged. It was Molly who broke the smelling salt under the woman's nose, which had her snapping out of her unconscious state. Soon enough Irene was looking from person to person. First Molly, then over to Sherlock and soon enough looking straight over to Hermione.

"We need to have some answers," Sherlock told her. "And need I remind you that you owe me your life?"

Irene rolled her eyes at this statement.

"She owes you a life debt?" Hermione asked, her voice low.

"Very much so," he replied, watching how Irene's eyes flicked from him to Hermione and back again. "Introductions must be made. Irene, this is Hermione Holmes, my wife."

Irene's eyes went comically wide.

Hermione chuckled, murmuring, "I do believe she thought you were going to wait for her, Sherlock."

The tied up woman's eyes went narrow and she was glaring at Hermione. But instead of wilting, as Irene had expected, she laughed in her face.

"A delicate little flower of womanhood would never last in Sherlock's life. But then you know that. They would be grabbed up, chewed up and spat out by the combines of his mind before the first hello had finished." She looked over to Molly. "We need answers. You might as well remove the gag." Hermione looked over to Irene, as Molly did as much.

"Sherlock," Irene said casually. "How low you've fallen! If you needed…" She went mysteriously mute, despite still speaking from the look of her.

Sherlock looked over to Hermione, who gave him a mutinous look. With an absent flick of her fingers, Irene could be heard once again.

"…And that hair!" She looked over to Hermione almost sympathetically. "I can give you the name of a good hairdresser, darling."

"And I can make you bald without you ever knowing how," Hermione murmured.

"Enough of this pettiness," Sherlock said, cutting off both of them. "Did Moriarty hire you?"

Irene smiled smugly. "What's it worth to you?" She gasped at the long bladed katana that Hermione pulled out and pressed the blade to her throat.

"Where I'm from a life debt means something," Hermione told her. "So perhaps you shouldn't be asking what it is worth to him, but if it's worth your life if you don't answer any and all questions put to you."

Irene cleared her throat and breathed, "Moriarty came to me a year ago. He knew where I was and that I needed money if I wanted to live as I wanted." She swallowed thickly, as the blade was lowered from her neck.

"Which Moriarty?" Sherlock asked her.

Irene blinked at him. "There's more than one?"

The blade was right back to her throat with Hermione saying, "You're a horrid liar, Miss Adler."

"Okay!" she hissed through her teeth. "It was Jim's father!" She looked to Hermione. "Happy?!"

She put away the sword without answering her. "Sherlock, shouldn't you finish with your questioning?" Hermione went over to the door of the morgue, peaking out to the hallway. "You do that while I take care of the company trying to sneak in."

She slipped out into the hallway, as she put on a pair of what looked to be sunglasses. Soon enough, Sherlock was right where she had been. Soon enough she was surrounded by seven different men, all pointing their rifles at her.

"Now this is no way to treat a lady," she murmured, pulling out a small bag of some sort of dust and throwing it into the air.

Blackness filled the hallway and all Sherlock could hear was the hit of fist hitting flesh and a few gun shots. Soon enough the blackness evaporated and Hermione was standing where she had been before panting and the men were on the floor—some bleeding and the others out cold, but all of them handcuffed to each other and out of action. Slipping off the sunglasses, she looked around to all of the men on the ground.

When one the men at the end of the chain of assailants lifted his gun to fire on Hermione, it was Sherlock that shot the gun out of his hand. Yelling in pain, man on the floor was holding his bleeding gun hand with his other one. Sherlock went over and helped Hermione taking up the weaponry from the men surrounding her.

"Lovely aim," she told him. "I must learn to fire a gun better. Do you think Mary could give me lessons?"

"Thank you," he murmured. "You never know. Whatever the case, I will need to teach you to lie."

"That goes without saying." Looking to Sherlock with a grin, she lifted one of the guns, and said, "Look! It's a HK MK23!" Going over to him. "I've only seen one in books!"

"Lovely," he murmured as she handed it over to him, as she passed by him going into the morgue again. He watched the men on the ground for a moment before going back into the morgue as well.

"What the hell are you?" Irene asked in shock, having seen only some of what the other woman had done.

"Beyond your scope," Hermione replied dryly and passed by her without another word.

…

As soon as they went about securing the rest of the basement, they went back and took the men that they had already taken care of over to the morgue's freezer. But unlike what Hermione wanted, they had kept them dressed and proceeded to handcuff them to the metal shelves.

"You just want to see them naked," Sherlock accused her.

"No! I want them to be too cold to escape!" She thought that over. "Never mind. Fifteen minutes in here they'd be too dead to escape and that wasn't the point, now was it?"

"More like a half an hour," Molly said, smiling now. "But you're correct."

One of the men mumbled something, which caught Hermione's attention.

"_Boss kunagi rääkis meile seda naist_."

She didn't say anything, as chances were that they knew both English as well as Estonian. She knew just enough Estonian to be dangerous. Her estimation of what the man said had her wondering where these men had come from in the first place. Because even though he was speaking one language, she didn't think it was his native tongue.

_The boss didn't tell us about this woman._

Incomplete information, meaning what exactly? She would have to ask Sherlock later. She looked over to Sherlock, who was watching the men intently. Sure enough, he knew what the man had said as well. He looked over to Hermione. Nodding towards the outside, she walked out with him and they closed up the freezer behind themselves.

Once outside, he breathed, "Did you comprehend what was being said?"

"I only caught one comment," she told him. "They didn't expect me."

"Estonian," he murmured.

"But that wasn't their first language," she breathed. "The accent was…off."

He chuckled. "True. I do believe they're Czech."

"Czech mercenaries," she replied, thinking over what she had seen of the men. "Chances are they're war criminals."

He nodded. "Given their ages and the visible scars, I would have to say so. When the Yard gets here, I'll speak to Lestrade about that. He'll be able to check for identifying tattoos during a weapons check."

Hermione stood there for a moment before she muttered, "Hold on. I have an idea."

She rushed over to Molly, whispering to her. Molly was silent a second before she rushed over to the supply closet and handed over the things that would make it possible for her to take DNA samples from the men.

"I'll be just a moment," she called out to Sherlock. "I'll be taking multiple samples from each subject." She paused and looked over to him. "If you hear a yell, it just means I have to take the sample from an area they might not like."

The first yelp was followed immediately by her exclaiming, "It's nose hair! It didn't hurt that much and they grow back!" There was a pause. "Judging from the amount poking out of that ridiculous thing you call a nose, I would have to say quite prolifically at that!"

It was with an immense sense of satisfaction that Sherlock said, "Brilliant."

Unbeknownst to him, Irene looked to him in shock. Shaking her head, Molly went over to the other woman.

"I told you I wasn't his girlfriend," Molly said to her. "I'm his pathologist and his friend, but that's it. Hermione and he…" Irene looked over to her. "If you try your usual games, I have no doubts whatsoever that she'd tear you to bits."

Irene said nothing, but she had little doubt of that as well. Damn. Any and all plans she had for Sherlock just went right out the window.

**TBC…**

**Aloha, chapter twenty! Thanks for reading and hang loose, bros!**


	22. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Here's chapter Twenty-one! Does that mean the story is now legal? LOL! Enjoy.**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty-one**

Sherlock was deep in thought, as Hermione was coming and going. She only pulled him out of his mind palace a few times to let him know what she had done and how far along Mary was in giving birth.

"Mary's stalled at five centimeters," Hermione told Molly. "I told her to use mind over birth canal."

Sherlock and Irene both looked at her as if she were insane.

"Yes, I know that was absolutely asinine, but I was pretty sure the laughter it would have elicited could have had the baby out in no time," Hermione murmured, making Molly laugh even as Irene rolled her eyes and Sherlock just grin. "Oh the things I'll say to win a wager."

"Hermione." She turned towards Sherlock. "Panel 8, lower right hand corner."

She thought that over. "Oh." Looking back over to her husband. "But his solution was wrong."

"I know. What's the correct one?"

She thought that over. "Sniper in the closest building with a site line." Closing her eyes, she thought it over. "That building north-east of here…the closer of the two buildings in that direction.

He nodded to this. "That's the one I thought as well. I texted Lestrade with that information."

Her eyes popped open and she looked over to him. "But that would mean…"

"Exactly," he replied. "I think the nut fell from the tree and now the father has taken back what was his."

"And the nut?" she asked dryly.

"He's an unknown at the moment. All we have is your contact with him and that one looped clip." She nodded slowly to this.

"And this is clearly his father's game," she murmured.

"Very much so," Sherlock said quietly. "But what game is it?"

"And is it a game at all?" she inquired. "The son plays games, but the father was far from fanciful enough to do as much. A cold murdering sonofvabitch, yes, but not one to play at anything."

He hummed at that, looking over to Irene who was clearly listening in on what they were speaking about. "But why bring in Irene?"

Hermione looked over to the other woman for a moment before pulling out her mobile and making a call.

"It took you long enough to call me," Severus snarled. "What's your status?"

"Healthy, wealthy and wise," she answered. "We're in the morgue of St. Barts. There's someone here you must speak to."

"If I must."

"Oh don't give me that, Severus," she told him. "You know if I could do it, I would have by now and informed you afterwards as per usual."

"Very well," he said. "I'll be there shortly."

"Oh by the way, before you come over, be prepared for anything. I may have done away with many of the mercenaries in the hospital, but you know they're like roaches."

"So true," he agreed. "See you soon."

She hung up the phone and looked over to Sherlock. "He'll get the information from her that we'll need."

He thought that over. "This should prove entertaining."

"Very," she murmured, looking over to Irene.

…

Five minutes later Severus Snape strolled into the morgue. He stopped and looked around the place.

"And they said my dungeons were morbid," he muttered, turning to face Hermione. "Well, where is this person? I don't have all day, you know."

She nodded towards Irene. "Irene Adler. She lies as easily as she breathes."

He strolled over to Irene, who was looking boldly into Snape's black eyes. Tilting his head, he murmured, "She has dealings with both junior and senior, but she deals mostly with the Professor as of late." Snape looked to Hermione. "I know that man." He frowned. "He was that asinine professor you had in Leeds. Moriarty."

"Yes," she replied. "Correcting everyone even when he was in fact wrong."

Snape snarled, "Dunderheaded idiot."

"I was thinking more along the lines of idiot savant, but that works too," Hermione replied dryly, gaining her a snort of laughter from Sherlock.

"What is their plan here for me? Why send me to the roof?" Sherlock asked him.

"It's a trap," Snape murmured. "But you knew that."

"There weren't many who didn't," Hermione said to which Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"When was the wedding and why wasn't I invited?"

"There was no formal ceremony," Hermione told him. "You can ask Mycroft when it was."

Severus's eyes narrowed at those words. "You mean to say that he knew?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, "Of course he knew." She looked over to a snickering Sherlock. "That was like asking the rain if it's wet."

"Does Molly Weasley know?"

Slowly, nearly comically, Hermione's eyes went wide. "No, not that I am aware of. I swear that woman is nearly as frightening as Neville's gran."

Severus nodded to this.

"Only you would be more frightened of this woman than you are of Czech mercenaries," Sherlock said dryly. "Is the professor in collusion with his son?"

"Not that she knows," he replied, looking at his watch. "I best be off. The business won't run itself." Severus looked over to Hermione. "Take care and if you need the help, call Potter. I'm taking a personal day."

"Okay," Hermione murmured. "Perhaps if you pretended to be happy…" He glared at her. "I did say pretend."

Severus rolled his eyes and went on his way without another word.

"I'm pretty sure if he didn't like me half as much as he does, I would have been hit with something for saying that to him," Hermione told Sherlock. "So what do you wish to do with Ms. Adler?" When all he did was stare at her, she admitted, "I keep going back to my plan for stripping her naked and tossing her into the freezer. So clearly, I'm still not thinking logically at this point in regards to her."

"Clearly," he muttered, looking over to Irene. Pulling out his phone, he dialed and waited. "Mycroft. Problem. St. Barts. Yes…" His eyes flicked over to Hermione. "Next to me…No, that's not the problem…Sniper…" He gave the information they had so far and ended with, "I need to find out everything you can about Professor James Moriarty." Soon thereafter, he hung up the phone. "He'll have the sniper in custody within five minutes."

Hermione's eyes went narrow, as her arms went across her chest. "You're setting her free?"

He nodded.

"Do you think that's wise?" she asked him.

"More than likely not," he admitted.

Hermione turned to Irene. "Know this, if you go against Sherlock again, I will hunt you down. And believe me when I say that the Furies have nothing on me when I'm angry."

"Jealousy really doesn't become you," Irene drawled.

A hard smile crept onto Hermione's face. "You think this is jealousy?" She laughed quietly, as she was shaking her head to the negative. "Where I come from, life debts are held to a standard you may not be used to. You see, to my people it's an oath to the one that saved your life. And if you don't uphold it, you die." Irene's eyes went a little wide at those words. "Life debts hold weight and import. They are to be taken very seriously. Obviously more seriously than you ever did. If it were up to me, your head would be on the ground separated from the rest of your body for what you've attempted to do today." But then she backed away from the other woman. "But that isn't my decision to make." Glancing to Sherlock, she said, "I'm going to check on Mary and John."

Hermione walked away without another word. Irene looked over to Sherlock giving him a flirtatious wink.

"Finally, we can attempt to have a civil conversation," Irene drawled.

He, on the other hand, arched his brow. Without looking over to his pathologist, he asked, "Could you please free Miss Adler when I text you, Molly? I should be doing so in approximately half an hour."

"Certainly," Molly answered. "Where are you going?"

"I'll be watching my wife's back." And Sherlock exited without looking to Irene again as he walked out the door.

**TBC…**

**…**

**Going, going…gone! Thanks for reading and have yourselves a jubilant day.**


	23. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Happy Valentine's Day! Personally, I hope my day is full of the one thing that people around the world have spent a lifetime coveting, craving, and have, yes, spent fortunes on. What? Love? No, I'm talking about chocolate. If not today, there's always tomorrow! It should be on sale too! LOL!**

**Hello one and all! Welcome to chapter twenty-two! If you follow me this way, you'll notice the fine vocabulary the word smith used to construct her story. Let's hope that the words are all spelled right and grammar is correct. And we're reading, we're reading…(LOL!)**

**Please read and review!**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty-two**

Sherlock ended up finding Hermione in the children's ward. Sitting quietly with a group of sick children around her, she was preforming slide of hand magic tricks. But then he saw it. She took a pound coin into her hand, showing it to all the children. Turning her hand around so that she was now holding it in her fist, she had all the children there tap it.

A flash of a memory came to him of a Moroccan street bazaar. A vailed woman with henna designs on her pale hands and around her smiling amber eyes as she had the children tapping her hand and she opened her hand to show a, lady's slipper orchid, a flower that should in no way have been in that place.

"It's very important that every one of you tap my hand!" she told the children interrupting into his memories, as she was rushing around to them all. She even stopped at Sherlock, who did so nearly against his will.

Hermione went back to her spot and said, "It's important, because this is the kind of trick I can't do alone. I need help doing it from all of you if this is going to go right." She peeked into her fist. "Nearly there. Did I miss someone here? Because if I did, it will not work."

"You missed Rodger!" called a little voice. "He's on the bed!"

"Then I must correct this!" She rushed over to the painfully thin little boy with no hair and the largest blue eyes she had ever seen. "Hello, Rodger. Can you help me with this?"

"How?" he asked weakly.

She moved so that she was closer to him. "Tap my hand right here." Hermione pointed to her knuckles of her right hand.

"I can't lift…" He looked ready to cry.

"May I help you?" she asked him.

He nodded to her. She took up his arm as if it were spun glass and helped him tap her hand.

"Want to see if it worked?" she asked him.

His smile was shaky, but brilliant as he nodded. She carefully showed him within her hand and his eyes grew wide with wonder.

"You want to know why it worked?" she asked him.

"Why?" he breathed.

"Because there is magic within us all," she answered, as she opened her hand and released not one, but at least a dozen different colorful butterflies into the hospital room all of them swirling and fluttering and went right out a newly opened window.

The children cheered enthusiastically, as she took her bows and went out the door with Sherlock on her heel.

"Morocco," he said.

"What about it?" she asked, as they arrived at the stairs.

"I saw you do that very same trick in a street bazaar in Morocco for a small group of street children." This had her smiling. "But for them, it was an orchid."

"I had wondered if you had seen me," she admitted. "It was the reason why I made such a quick exit."

"If it hadn't been for the human traffic, I would have met you sooner," he muttered.

She paused in walking and quickly gave him a peck on his lips. "But I like how we met." Smiling wickedly, she added, "Though I must confess that I do wish I had kissed your lips instead of your ear."

Sherlock smiled shyly at this. "I liked it."

"Really?" She stopped in her tracks. "You know we should do experiments in regards to sex."

"Why? We know what to do," he said to her.

"True, but I want to know what you enjoy and I would like to find out together what I enjoy."

Now he stopped and looked at her, but was listening intently to the rapid sound of feet coming their way. "Are you saying you've never had an orgasm?"

"No, but I was never sober enough to enjoy it properly." She tilted her head. "Or recall them in detail."

"Hmm, pity." He pulled her into the nearest broom closet, closing the door behind them.

Hermione pulled out her wand and soon they were looking out through the clear door.

"Amazing," Sherlock breathed, as three doctors rushed past them. "Could they have seen us?"

"No," she murmured and did the counter-spell. "It's like one way glass. They would see the door as it is."

Once again they were out in the hallway and making their way up the stairs. And soon enough they were in the room with Mary and John. When Hermione saw just how tired Mary looked, she went over to her. Taking up a wash cloth into her hand from the cool water in a small bowl. Ringing it out, she mopped her face.

"I'm going to do a diagnostic spell," she told the weary woman and looked over to John. "They won't be hurt by it. It'll just let us know what's going on."

"Do it," John whispered.

Hermione did it and nearly screamed at what she saw. Turning to John, she told him. "C-section, now!"

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"I will answer you as soon as she's out of surgery with your daughter, but she needs the C-section _now!_"

John hurried out, even as Hermione went over to Diarmuid. Sherlock went over to her and asked, "That wasn't about the bet?"

She didn't bother to answer him until after Mary was pulled into surgery, not wanting to scare her more than she already was.

She looked at him, fear ripe in her amber eyes. "Our wager be damned. I want them both here healthy with us to celebrate." She took a few deep breaths before saying, "The placenta was placed over at the opening of the womb."

His sharp inhale told her that he knew what could have happened if she had given birth. Without this emergency intervention, one or both of them could very well die.

Hermione cleared her throat and whispered, "Why didn't they know?"

That snapped Sherlock out of his thinking. "What?"

"Her doctors," she replied. "Why didn't they know about the placement of the placenta? Mary was going on about the ultrasounds all the time. They would have seen it, don't you think?" She worried her lower lip. "I wish I knew more about muggle medical practices." She stood up and pulled out her phone. "But I do know something better."

"What's that?" Sherlock asked.

"A healer with more attitude than the both of us combined."

"Now that I find hard to believe," he said dryly and watched as she made the phone call.

**TBC…**

**Another chapter has made its dive into the internet. Thanks for reading and have a heralded day!**


	24. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hello! I hope everyone is doing well. Here we go into chapter twenty-three! Thanks for reading, reviewing, and following/favoriting. It means ever so much to me that you guys are along for the ride. Enjoy!**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Pansy strolled into the maternity ward as if she owned it. This was no different than any other entrance she ever made. The fact that she was doing so while wearing a high priced muggle designer's wears was. Dolce &amp; Gabbana at its finest, even if Hermione thought it was the equivalent of dressing a pig in silk. This had more to do with the woman's personality and not her looks, which even Hermione had to admit had improved greatly over the years. Whether that was because of nature or surgery, Hermione didn't know, nor did the smart witch much care. Pansy would always be ugly to her. This was, once again, was all to do with the woman's attitude.

She stopped in front of Hermione giving her the once over before dismissing her in favor of Sherlock.

Smiling winningly, she murmured, "Hello, I'm Pansy."

His brow arched at her words, he turned to Hermione and asked, "Are you sure there wasn't anyone else we could have called?"

"There was, but we would have to wait for them to get here from India," she told him. "Pansy, this is my husband Sherlock Holmes. And unless you want him telling you exactly what you don't want to hear, you'd do well to get into your professional mode."

Glaring at her Pansy told her, "I'm on holiday!"

"Good for you," Hermione told her. "You owe me."

With narrowing eyes, she muttered, "What do you want?"

She told her what was going on and she nodded, now clearly in her healer role. Hermione handed off the leash to Sherlock.

"We'll be back shortly," she murmured and kissed his lips lightly and looking down to Diarmuid. "Keep him safe, boy."

Pansy and Hermione strolled into the operating suite, startling most there. Whipping out her wand, Hermione knocked out every doctor, but John.

"What's going on here?!" he exclaimed, as he kept working on his wife to get their child out.

"Pansy, you work on Mary," she snapped out. "I'm seeing which of these bastards works for Moriarty."

"Her blood pressure is too low!" Pansy exclaimed, as she got to work fixing the problem. "Start with the anesthetist first! This is all wrong here!"

"Will do," Hermione said and magically moved the doctor in question out of the room to interrogate.

Hermione sent a text to Sherlock and soon enough he was joining her in the scrub room of the surgical suite. She had propped up the doctor against the wall.

"Quick question," she asked him. "Do you care if I give him a truth serum? True, you can get the information from him, but I'm being rather impatient, as we do have at least three others to question."

"There's a truth serum? How does it work?"

"The one that I have…" She paused long enough to go searching her jacket and pulling it out. "This one isn't the highly regulated one, so it's milder than the one I would prefer to use. But it's a lot more fun when they lie."

"How so?" he asked.

"You'd have to see it to believe it," she told him.

"For science I must see how it works," he answered, the corner of his mouth tilting up.

Hermione fed the short man in front of them the truth serum and she woke him with a renovate spell. The short, balding man blinked in confusion and shock. Looking at Sherlock alarmed, he tried to get up, but found that he couldn't even stand up as he appeared to be stuck to the seat he was in.

"Who paid you to ensure that Mary Watson would die?"

"I don't know what you're speaking of, young…Bak-KAH!" He clamped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with shock.

Frowning, Sherlock said, "It makes him sound like a chicken? Where's the fun in that?"

"Oh no," she said, shaking her head. "It will change them completely into a chicken." She motioned to him. "If he continues to lie, he'll be changed into poultry." Hermione looked him over. "Given his height and weight, I do not doubt that there will be a bantam in this room with us if he continues to tell us falsehoods."

"That's impossible!" the doctor exclaimed.

"Then who paid for you to kill Mary Watson?"

"No one!" he snapped, only to have there be a tearing sound and they all looked down to his feet. Poking out of the man's shoes was none other than three rather large chicken toes poking out the front of the shoe and a fourth protruding out the heel.

"You were saying?" she asked him dryly.

"Oh my god!" he gasped at the sight and proceeded to rush out with, "A man came to me! Offered me a lot of money!"

"You gamble," Sherlock muttered. "And what's worse is that you're bad at it. You needed the money. I see as much. But what you have failed to answer is who paid you."

"H-he never said…" The doctor's nose and mouth slowly transformed into a beak.

"You were saying?" Sherlock asked blandly.

He tried to speak but couldn't get the words out.

Hermione pulled out her wand and flicked it at him, changing the garbling into actual words.

"Moriarty!"

"Jim, the younger, or James, the elder?" Sherlock pressed.

"James!" he exclaimed. "Professor Moriarty!"

"Who else was working with you?" the lanky detective asked him.

"Two of the other doctors," he told them. "They needed the money as badly as I do, but for what I don't know."

Sherlock said nothing as he thought over what he had been told.

"Do you have anything more to ask of him?" Hermione inquired.

Snapping out of his thoughts he said, "No. I have enough from him." Frowning he asked, "What are you going to do with him?"

"Nothing much," she answered. "Get him to lie a few more times and take him over to the Burrow. Molly has been complaining that she needs a new rooster to rid her yard of insects…"

The poor man passed out at those words.

"He's a fainter." Hermione looked to her husband. "I was expecting him to have more of a backbone. It wasn't as if I issued a real threat." Quickly she fed him the elixir that would nullify the truth potion, magically ensured that he wouldn't awaken, and proceeded to obliviate him in quick order. She took the doctor away and brought over another one of the doctors.

It wasn't until the last of the doctors did they receive information they hadn't counted on. Dr. Montgomery, Mary's regular OB/GYN, was in deep debt thanks in large part to his divorce and new mistress—Irene Adler. And even as helpful as this news was there was still more to come.

"His face didn't match his hands," he said to them.

"In what fashion?" Hermione inquired.

"His face may have been old, but his hands weren't," he told them. "I did two rotations in Geriatrics. I know an old person when I see one and that was no old man."

"A mask," Hermione breathed. "It would explain where he's been all this time."

Sherlock nodded to this.

"But if that's the case, then where's…?" Then it hit them both.

"Brown!" they breathed together and looked to each other.

"Do you think he's still alive or dead and buried there?" she asked him.

"Dead and buried," he said grimly. "I have no doubt of it."

"What now?"

Smiling harshly, he said in a cold voice, "Now, my dear, we start to turn the tables on him." Leaning down, he kissed her lips possessively and added when they heard the healthy cry of a new baby. "But first things first, we see to our family's safety."

**TBC…**

**The baby's here! Hooray! Thanks for reading and have yourselves a bright and beautiful day!**


	25. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**BONUS CHAPTER! Because chocolate will be on sale today and I want people to have a fun, calorie free alternative. (Pause) Yeah. Right.**

**Coffee! Must have…coffee and fanfiction! (Chuckles) How are you all doing? I hope everyone is remaining excellent this fine day. Enjoy the new chapter and remember if you want your voice heard, I can't hear you from here if you yell. Please review. Enjoy!**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty-four**

By the time they joined them in the surgery, Mary was sitting up and smiling broadly down into the face of her daughter. John was standing next to her, looking happier than Sherlock had ever seen him before.

The former soldier went over to his friend, hugging him tightly. Next he went over to Hermione, breathing, "Thank you." He pulled back, tears shining in his eyes. "Thank you so much. You saved the two most important people in my life. I don't know what I would have done…"

Hermione patted his shoulder, breathing, "Let's get them someplace warm and safe, shall we?"

Straightening up, he said, "Yes, let's!"

Hermione disguised the new little family, making them appear to be a bohemian couple walking their dog. This was made all the easier thanks in large part to Diarmuid. Kneeling down next to the dog, Hermione gave him instructions to keep on guard but not to look as if he were.

"I know its silliness," she sighed. "But if they think you're alert, the people watching will be wondering why. So the best I can tell you is to be casually on guard."

"What…?" John breathed. "That's…"

"As mad as that sounds, she's correct," Mary murmured to him.

"And remember to be patient with John," Hermione told the dog lastly. "He's only human." The dog gave a little bark and licked her face.

"Damn if that dog doesn't know exactly what she's saying!" John muttered. "Can you speak to all dogs?"

Hermione looked at him, saying, "Why would I do that? Do you speak to every person you meet?" She looked back to the dog. "Like I said, be patient, love."

This gained her a giggle from Mary and a reluctant snort of laughter from John. It was then that she pulled out her mobile, looking at the text she had received. "Alright you two, go on out of the front of the hospital. You shouldn't be stopped. If anyone tries, I will be knocking them out cold. Pay them no mind and keep walking. When we get outside, go to the black taxi. The taxi's number you're going to is 443." She looked to John. "I have your six."

"Excellent," he murmured, and began to walk the dog with Mary, who was cradling the baby in a hammock close to her chest, turned to Hermione quickly and winking at her before following her husband.

Hermione quickly turned to Pansy, handed her a paper and began to leave even as she heard her gasping.

"Granger, this is too much!" the Slytherin told her.

"The life of John, Mary and their child are priceless, Pansy. They are family to me, as surely as Harry." She looked to the other woman and grinned. "And it's Holmes." Wiggling her fingers of her left hand, she went on her way to follow her family to keep them safe.

Three individuals dressed as doctors attempted to stop them, but as Hermione had told them they dropped to the ground unconscious.

John stopped momentarily for the first one only to have Hermione prodding his back and snapping, "Keep moving."

Once outside, Mary jolted at the sound of what could have only been a high powered sniper rifle's bullet hitting she knew not what.

"Keep moving!" Hermione ordered. "Go!"

When it happened again, this time John seemed aware of it as well. But this time both of them could have sworn they heard Hermione behind them muttering a mathematical problem aloud involving degrees of angle, velocity, and timing.

A third bullet was fired and Hermione was snapping into a walky-talky, "Third floor! The second room in the center window. Go!"

All of them were in the cab when there was the sound of what could only be a flash grenade from across the street. There was the sound of gun fire that had John covering Mary and the baby bodily even as the taxi left the front of the hospital.

It wasn't until they were well away from the hospital that John looked over to Hermione and asked, "What was that?"

"There was a sniper in the building across the street. He was taken care of," she answered, itching Diarmuid behind his ear. "Good boy. You did very well." Trying to hold back a teasing grin and failing she said to John, "So did you."

He blinked at her only to snort out a laugh and hug his giggling wife to him. "Where are we going to and will Sherlock be meeting us there?"

The window between the driver and them was opened by the driver. "I would have hoped that you were more observant by now, John."

"Sherlock?!" he exclaimed.

"You really didn't think I'd get into a cab with my new goddaughter, my favorite cousin and cousin-in-law with a driver I didn't know and trust?" Hermione asked him. Smiling, she inquired of Mary, "Well, with everything going to hell in a hand basket you never told us her name."

Mary smiled, as she looked down to her daughter's sleeping face. "Rachael…" She looked to Hermione, adding, "Jean Watson."

"Oh Mary," she breathed. "That's absolutely wonderful. I'm so honored. And I know my mother would have loved it as well."

"Jean?" John asked.

"It's my middle name," Hermione told him. "And my mum's first. The name Jean has been in my family for a long time. My granny, her mum, had it as a middle name and so on and so forth. In a move of rebellion I told them both at the age of five that I would name no daughter of mine Jean. When they asked me what I would name her, I told them Jarvis." This had the new parents snickering and Sherlock rolling his eyes.

"I am naming no child of mine Jarvis!" Sherlock snapped.

"I know, darling," she sighed. "Keep in mind that was long before I knew of its tight link to being a man servant."

Those words relaxed him greatly, as he said, "Good."

Soon enough they were arriving in Harlow and pulling into a closed garage. Getting out of the taxi, Hermione led the way over to an office where a two tall redheaded men were waiting for them.

"Everyone, these two reprobates are George and Fred Weasley," Hermione introduced them. "Fred, George, this is my cousin Mary, her husband John Watson, and our brand new goddaughter Rachael."

"Watcher!" both chimed with George adding, "Always lovely to meet family."

Hermione went over to Mary, hugging her with one arm as absent tears were descending down her cheeks. "You're my absolutely favorite cousin, Mary. Never forget that."

"Why?" she sobbed.

Hermione cleared her throat and told her, "If I didn't adopt family, I'd have none outside of Sherlock."

Mary nodded, smiling even as tears threatened to pour once again, as she said, "You're my favorite cousin as well."

"Now enough of those tears, dear heart. You'll have more than enough of them with the hormones without borrowing them," Hermione teased her.

"Oh you!" Mary said, laughing.

It was at that moment that the twins took note of Hermione's wedding ring. "You got married?!"

"Yes," Hermione told them, looking nervously over to them. "And no, your mum doesn't know of it yet."

"Oh!" George covered his mouth his eyes going wide and Fred was shaking his head and muttering, "You are so in for it, 'Mione!"

"What is so frightening about your mother, as to have my wife upset as to telling her?" Sherlock asked them.

"Mum is a lovely woman," the twins told him.

"One of the most generous people we know," Fred went on.

"And would cook for an army if need be," George added.

"She's done that," Fred said to his brother who nodded.

And then both of them together ended with, "But that woman could out scream a howler monkey when upset."

"Her lectures…" Hermione breathed. "I've never met a person that could make you feel like such utter crap with the guilt they lay on you even as they're asking when the last time you ate a good meal before sitting you down and feeding you." Smiling at Mary, she told her, "She's an awesome cook and would be an excellent grandmum for Rachael."

"What…" Sherlock started only to pause as the answer came to him. "Excellent idea, Hermione."

"Thank you," she murmured. "Seeing as we are going to the Burrow next, I knew we'd need a plan."

Sherlock went over to her, kissing her temple. "The Burrow?"

Smiling up at him, she said, "The Weasley family home. It defies logic and physics. You'll love it."

**TBC…**

**And another chapter has come to its end. Thanks for reading and have yourselves a calm, cool, and collected day.**


	26. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Howdy! And welcome to the hoedown that is chapter twenty-five! Get yourselves all comfy like, get your favorite beverage, and have yourselves a darn-tooting good read! Yee-haw!**

**Yeah, I've been watching a lot of Westerns lately. Can you tell? LOL! Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty-five**

The group split up and went in two different flying cars over to the Burrow. Hermione spent the entire trip with her face buried in Sherlock's chest, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and her hands clutching his jacket. Sherlock, meanwhile, was hugging her as he was grinning with glee and asking as many questions as he could come up with of George, who was driving the car.

When Sherlock caught sight of the Burrow for the first time, he breathed, "How on earth is it standing at all?"

"Magic," Hermione said into his chest. "Brilliant, isn't it?"

"That's…" He laughed at the word he was nearly about to use about the topsy-turvy house that was clearly standing. "Yes, it's brilliant."

They no sooner than landed and parked did Hermione scrambled out of the car with Diarmuid. Sherlock was slower in exiting, as was George. Hermione released the dog from his leash, who went straight over to where a pack of children were playing. Hermione's eyes narrowed. The majority of the children there were supposed to be in school, she told herself even as Ginny came strolling over to where she was standing with a shot of fire whiskey in hand.

Hermione looked over to her friend, asking, "What is going on?"

"If it means anything, it was all my idea," Ginny told her, handing her the fire whiskey.

Hermione downed the shot, even as Sherlock was rushing over to her side.

"What did you just drink and why did it have flames?" he demanded.

"Fire whiskey," Hermione told her husband. "And the name explains it all." Looking over to Ginny once again, she said, "You told me that you were going to a symposium!"

"I lied," she drawled.

"Apparently!" the frizzy haired witch muttered. Looking over to Sherlock, she told him, "I'm sorry. I had nothing to do with what's about to happen. Whatever it is."

"A wedding reception," Sherlock replied. "You may have had nothing to do with it, but I did." Reaching out, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Come on, lady wife. We have a goddaughter, not to mention both her and her mother are alive. I think we have more than one reason to celebrate, don't you?"

Just then Fred's car arrived. John stepped out of the car, helping a smiling Mary out of the car still holding the baby.

"That was amazing!" John said, joining them with his wife. "And this house?!"

"Magic," Hermione told him.

"It's lovely," Mary said. "Let's get to the back where the party is."

"You knew?" Hermione asked them, to which they both smiled and nodded.

"Sherlock told us at the hospital when you went off to the loo," John was the one to say.

Ginny and Mary both erupted into laughter when they heard Hermione muttering about her bladder's piss poor timing.

Blushing she said sheepishly, "No pun intended."

Laughing they took them to the back where the party was going on. The moment they went around the house she saw all the Weasleys there with their wives, a few professors from the school, and more than a few friends as well. When her eyes landed on Mycroft, who was standing next to a rather bemused Severus Snape, she was a bit shocked.

"How on earth did you managed to get your brother here?" she asked him.

"I didn't," Sherlock said. "He wanted to be here for when you spoke to Molly Weasley to see what she does to intimidate you."

Hermione snorted to that. "He'd never be able to come close to mastering what she does."

"Hermione Jean Holmes!" Hermione went absolutely still. "How dare you get married without even attempting to let your family know, young lady!"

"Merlin," she breathed, turning to face her. "I-I…"

Molly strolled right over to her, hugged her tightly and said, "You should have flooed me, Hermione."

"A lot of things were going on at the time," she told her. "We didn't even have a wedding ceremony."

"I know!" she screeched. "Your mother would have been sorely disappointed."

"My mum and dad eloped to Las Vegas when they found out that she was pregnant with me," Hermione replied. "Much like you did when you went over to Gretna Green when you found out you were pregnant with Bill. Three months gone, weren't you?"

Molly's face went a florid red, changing the subject that very moment to, "Come along, dearie. Food's getting cold."

The older woman took off and Hermione breathed, "I saved that gem for just a moment like this." She looked to Sherlock. "I think it worked well."

Her husband draped his arm over her shoulder and they walked over to the main table where they would be sitting. It wasn't until they were there that Hermione saw Poppy. She excused herself a moment and went over to the healer. Sherlock wondered what she was about as she was speaking to her. But when he saw the older woman getting up and going over to Mary, he had his answer.

Hermione went back to her seat, saying, "I wanted to make certain that Mary had all the potions she would be needing and that none of them would be effecting Rachael thanks to the breast milk."

"Wise," he murmured, just as an older man with a woman with bright pink hair came over to their table.

"Remus! Tonks!" Hermione jumped up and rushed over to them, hugging them both. "I didn't know that you were back from Iceland."

"Just got back this morning," Remus told her. "You're looking good, pup."

Smiling she said, "Feeling good." Turning to Sherlock, she nodded him over. He went over and she introduced everyone, finishing with, "And no they don't own a wolf."

Remus went pale only to have Sherlock mutter, "And a dog?"

"No," she replied. "That they don't."

"Is he or she an animagus?" he asked.

"No, but she's a metamorphmagus," Hermione told him. "That means she's a shape shifter."

"Hmm, intriguing," he breathed, looking at Tonks. "Clumsy and they have three children." He looked over to Hermione. "There's a lot of children."

"Baby boom," she murmured to which he nodded and looked back over to the couple in front of them.

Sherlock went very still in that next instance and asked, "Is he a werewolf?"

"Yes, that I am," Remus was the one to answer. "You have nothing to fear…"

"Fear? Why on earth would anyone fear you? You have it under control and you don't go out deliberately harming others." He snorted. "As for the ones that fear you, clearly they're idiots."

Shock radiated off of Remus before Dora threw herself at Sherlock, giving him a warm hug. Pulling back, Tonks told Hermione, "He's a good one." Looking around to see if anyone was listening before saying, "Much better than…uh…you know."

Laughing Sherlock thanked her and looked towards Remus. "When we have time, you must tell me about it."

"We'll do that," Remus murmured, looking to Hermione. "He'll be good for you. I can see that."

They walked away by Neville and his wife Hannah. And so it went when the people visiting left, others took their places. Thankfully the meal was announced and soon thereafter Harry was making a speech. As Hermione was sitting there, she looked over to Sherlock who was watching her.

Leaning over to him, she whispered, "Why?"

Kissing her forehead, he replied just as quietly, "Because."

A small smile bloomed on her face. As she slid her hand into his and they laced their fingers together, they went back to listening to the speech being made.

**TBC…**

**There went another chapter hopping down the bunny trail. Thanks for reading and have a chocolate filled day!**


	27. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hello! Hope that your day is going swimmingly. Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty-six**

The party went on for several hours. By the time the guests were going home, Hermione had more than a few drinks and was talking nonstop as she was building something out of sticks she was finding around the yard. Harry, at one point, asked Sherlock what she was doing and he said that she was building a trebuchet.

Frowning, he asked, "What's that?"

"A small catapult," he replied. "Lovely design, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said, interrupting her own speech on physics to tell him. "I saw this particular design at what is referred to as a pumpkin chuckin' competition on the television." She paused, looking over to Sherlock. "It was a waste of perfectly good pumpkins."

"I'm sure," he said. "What would you have used?"

"All of the participants seemed to drive these monstrous trucks that use enough petrol to keep the likes of BP in business for a century or so. And sadly they all managed to look exactly alike. I would have broken one of those petrol guzzling monstrosities down into pieces and chucked the parts that I wouldn't have been able to use to improve my design."

"Wise," Sherlock murmured, when he took note of a disturbance near the house. "Harry?"

Harry looked over to where the other man was indicating. He left with a muttered, "Damn."

Hermione went back to speaking to the others about physics and how it was fun as she continued to build her catapult. Sherlock needing to know what was going on, got up and went over to where Harry was now arguing with Ron Weasley.

"There was no game today, Ron," Harry told him. "I know because I checked with your coach. I also know for a fact that you didn't so much as invite your mum over for that supposed party you were just yelling at Ginny about us missing. So you're going to have to do better than that!"

"Why wasn't I invited to this party?" Ron demanded.

"You were!" Harry raged. "I invited you! As did your sister! Hell, even Sherlock invited you!"

Ron's face went a duller red, as he asked, "You did? When?"

"Two weeks ago," Ginny said, looking as sour as she felt thanks to her brother's boorish behavior. "I wanted to make sure that there was plenty of time to let you know. You said you had some big event to go to and that you'd be here if you could if you could manage it."

"Oh," he breathed and was at that moment looking sheepish. "I forgot."

"Mary, your eye for angles is better than mine," Sherlock heard Hermione calling out to the other woman.

"You owe us all an apology," Ginny told him. "Why you feel the need to be this-this…"

"Sherlock! Incoming!" Hermione called out.

Calmly he pulled both Ginny and Harry out of the way as what looked to be a water balloon hit Ron right in the face. Only it wasn't one. It was a new product from the Twins called a slime ball. Slime was streaming down his face, as he stood there stunned. He scrapped it out of his eyes, even as Sherlock, Ginny, and Harry all turned to Hermione who was standing next to Mary.

Hermione and Mary did a fist bump before she turned to the others and said, "And that, my friends, is why I love physics!"

Her audience applauded and the Twins gave her a standing ovation. Laughing she bowed, waving to Mary to take her bows as well.

Sherlock went over to Hermione and pulled her into a heated kiss that had most of the people there crowing and cheering them on. It wasn't long after the kiss finished that he scooped her up into his arms and took her into the house and up to the room that they would be sharing that night.

…

All of them ended up staying the night along with the other Weasleys with their families as well. Molly was as pleased as punch to have all of her family there and was cooking enough breakfast to feed several armies as proof of this. Hermione had ended up taking care of Rachael that morning in order to allow John and Mary some sleep while they could get it.

When Mary came out of the room looking frantic, Hermione went over to her and slipped the baby into her arms.

"She needed a nappy change and a bottle," she murmured. "You have yourself a little angel here, Mary."

Smiling happily she answered, "I know." Looking at Hermione, she said, "Thanks."

"You are welcome. Have you taken your potions yet?"

"I was just about to," she said. "Can you see after her while I do that and get a bite to eat too?"

"Of course," Hermione told her, taking the baby back. "Hurry along and come back. Rumor has it that Molly is making her breakfast hodgepodge. You need to get back here with John straight away before I eat it all." Mary was already laughing, as she added, "You'd be saving my waist line seeing as Molly will more than push the food onto my plate in the hopes that I am already on the road to motherhood."

"Fear not, my favorite cousin," she said cheekily. "Given the noises coming from your room last night, chances are that it won't be that long a wait for her."

Hermione's face went beet red. "Holy hell! I forgot the silencing charms!" She buried her face into her hand and mumbled, "Please don't tease Sherlock about that." Looking over to her. "Please?"

Smiling, she assured her that she wouldn't and went on her way to get her husband ready for breakfast. It was Ginny that pulled her aside.

"So do tell," she murmured quietly. "How was it?"

"I don't kiss or anything else and tell," Hermione told her. "But I will say that a man that knows the human body as well as he does is an incredible thing to have in a lover." She rubbed the baby's back slowly. "The word 'wow' also comes to mind."

Ginny was giggled at that.

"A lot of other words come to mind as well, but that, again, would be telling," Hermione told her friend.

When Sherlock came down from the room, Hermione asked him straight off, "Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please," he murmured and proceeded to sit down, slipping into his mind palace as he did so.

Frowning Ginny asked Hermione, "Is he praying?"

"No, he's in his mind palace," she told her even as Harry came over to where they were.

Ginny ended up making his tea, as she watched on. Hermione took Sherlock's tea over to him, letting him know that it was on the small light stand to his left. When he nodded, she went back over to her friends. Mary and John came over a little later taking the baby from Hermione and thanking her for watching after Rachael that morning.

"Just to let you know," Hermione told him. "She woke up at about five, I fed her about two ounces of formula, and changed her diaper fifteen minutes later."

"I don't need a report," John assured her.

"Oh I know. But patterns being as they are, it might give you an idea of what you'll be experiencing in the near future," Hermione replied. "Now pardon me, there's coffee to be had!"

**TBC…**

**And another chapter has flown into the internet. Thanks for reading and have a lexical day!**


	28. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hi! Here it is another beautiful day in fanfiction land. Thanks for taking the time to read this! I know this is getting tiresome, but it would really help me out if you reviewed. Mysteries are tricky beasts and as such I need the feedback to know that I'm doing it correctly. Thanks again and enjoy!**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty-seven**

It wasn't until after her first sip that she muttered about it being decaffeinated yet still drank the rest of her morning beverage. Sherlock having heard this, looked over to Harry.

"She's been practically bouncing off the walls," Harry told him. "And morning is about the only time of the day she'll tolerate decaffeinated."

"Good to know," Sherlock said, looking back over to his wife. "I was able to find out the identity of Jamie."

Harry looked to him sharply. "Who?"

"John! Hermione! Mary! Conference outside!" he announced, as he got to his feet.

Once they were outside, Sherlock explained to Harry what was going on and just who Jamie was. Harry stood there for a moment before turning to Hermione.

"I remember him," he said tightly. "I told you that there was something off about him."

"Yes, I know," she murmured. "But if you remember back then I wasn't listening to my own common sense never mind yours. So you shouldn't feel too put out."

"Good point," he muttered, looking over to Sherlock. "What do you need?"

"Someplace safe for Mary, John, and Rachael to stay until this has blown over," Sherlock said, gaining a protest from John.

"I'm not letting you get into this alone," John told him.

"I told you he wouldn't go for being left out of the fight," Hermione murmured to which Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Sherlock, what of Magnussen's stash?"

He looked over to Harry. "We need to know if anyone has let a vault with Gringotts via proxy."

"It would have to have been one of the largest vaults there is," Hermione told him.

Ginny joined them with Dillon resting on her chest, handing a tea to Harry. "What's going on?"

"Have you heard about a large vault being let at Gringotts via proxy?"

She thought it over. "I haven't, but you know who would? The Twins. Given all their business with the Goblins I wouldn't be shocked to hear about it from them, but only in passing. The goblins aren't known for their loose lips, but they told me how they both made it a point to learn gobbledygook so they would know that they weren't speaking about the two of them behind their backs."

Soon enough they were at the large table in the garden, the entire lot of them speaking about the largest vault at the bank being let out by none other than…

"Terry Boot?" Hermione asked in a whisper. "Is he working with Jim?"

"More than likely," Sherlock muttered sourly. "We need into that vault to see what's in it."

"If it's Magnussen's stash?" Hermione inquired.

"That means that Jim had it all along," Sherlock said contemplatively.

"What are the chances that he was the one to set up the turmoil over in Eastern Europe in order to get you over there and thusly out of the way?" Hermione asked him.

"I would say that the chances of that were excellent," Sherlock replied.

Hermione looked over to her husband. "What's the order of operations?"

He thought that over. "Terry Boot and the bank at the same time. I'll call my brother and arrange the paperwork needed to get into the bank and for Harry here to take Terry into custody."

"Next?" John was the one to ask.

"We need to see what we have once we get into the vault," he replied. "Regardless of if the blackmail material is there or not, we need to find Professor James Moriarty's body in America."

"Remus would be good for that," Harry suggested. "Give us an estimated location and he'll start the hunt."

"I want this trap to be neat, well made, and completely inescapable by the time we're done," Sherlock said tightly.

Hermione turned to Mary and asked, "Do you know anyone that is good at making life like masks?"

"Certainly," she murmured. "Trouble is these days there's no end to the amount of people out there that can do so."

Sherlock looked to his wife. "The mask he wore to look like his father?"

"He had to get it from somewhere. And seeing as he didn't go the magical route…"

"Moriarty would need someone to make the mask for him," he breathed. "There's only one man he would trust with something like that."

Hermione rubbed her forehead, muttering, "I was afraid you were going to say that." Looking over to a confused John, she told him, "Moran."

…

The small group of three walked at an even pace throughout the prison. Each of their steps in time with the others, as if they had done this many times before. Once to the isolation ward, they made their way over to where Moran was currently being held. He hadn't been given any opportunity to make any sort of communication with anyone—not even his own guards. The standing orders were simple, feed him, and check his room several times daily, but no communication of any sort will ever take place other than orders.

Stepping ahead of the other two there Mycroft, looked Moran over with a jaded eye. It was clear that that man had attempted speaking to the guards, as he could see that the prisoner had been at one point in the last hour pinned to the bars and more than likely read the riot act.

"Visitors? I guess you want something," Moran said, smiling as he did so. "Well, you know what I want."

"I'll make this simple," Mycroft told him. "You answer the question or you're being transferred to another prison. And from what I heard this place is a day camp compared to the place you'll be going to."

Moran stood up all the straighter, military air of imperviousness slipping into place. His lips went tight and it was clear he wasn't going to be speaking any time soon.

Very well. If that was the way he wanted it, Mycroft thought, as he stepped aside and Hermione lifted her gun and shot him with a knockout dart in the neck. Moran was on his face within a second. Mycroft looked from the man on the floor to the woman that had done the deed.

"What is in that dart and when can I get my hands on some of them?"

Laughing she told him that he'd have to talk to Severus about that and got to work.

…

The crack of thunder woke Sabastian from his drugged sleep to find himself in what appeared to be a stone lined freezer. The walls were stone and the only window in the room was a slat that was too far to look out of and was letting in the rain that was lashing where he was. The cold hit next. It was fucking freezing! Cold and wet from the weather being let into the cell. Looking around he found a blanket that was sodden from the rain. Ringing it out, he tried to dry it, but nothing worked.

"Where the hell am I?" he asked of no one in particular.

"Azkaban Prison." He spun to look at the woman that answered him. "We're on a desolate island well north of where you were before." She looked to the window. "Good thing it's still day time. Tonight this place is expecting ice and snow. But that's nothing new."

"You're going to let me out of this place!" he snarled.

She pouted in an exaggerated manner, as she asked, "Or what? Will the big, bad man try to hurt me?"

He charged at her only to find himself dropping to his knees with the impact of her knee to his groin and to have her repeat the same to his nose. Now flat on his back, he looked up, glaring at her. What the hell was wrong with him?

"The drugs currently in your system are vastly slowing your response time," she told him. "Which isn't nice for you, but actually is rather lovely for me as I've been wanting to do that to you for a while." She tossed down a handkerchief to him. "Your nose is bleeding. You might want to take care of that before it freezes there."

He moved away from her, leaning on the edge of his cot as he cleaned up his face. "What do you want from me?"

"Answers, of course," she said casually. "But I'm patient. The thing is and, perhaps you might agree with me with this, I don't know. But it might do well to do as much before you freeze to death."

"I'd die before I'd betray Jim," he hissed.

Smiling coldly. "Then it's a good thing that you're here. The survival rate for the first day is low to say the least." She pounded on the door. The door opened and she stepped out, telling him, "Enjoy your first night, Colonel. And for your sake, I hope you know what you're in for here."

"And what's that, little girl?" he asked in a snarl.

Turning to him slowly, she said, "Why, I would have thought you'd know what this place is by now." She looked around the cell and straight back over to him. "Welcome to hell."

**TBC…**

**Ooh, cliffhanger! I love them as much as other people hate them I'm sure. Thanks for reading and have yourselves a comprehension filled day.**


	29. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**BONUS CHAPTER! Because I wanted to and that's all that matters.**

**Hello! Hope everyone is doing well! Thanks for reading. Enjoy!**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty-eight**

Hermione was texting Sherlock when she became aware of Mycroft staring at her. She flicked a look at him, even as she was telling Sherlock that his brother was being very _him_ at that moment.

"Yes?" she asked, even as she was reading Sherlock's response back to her.

"You care for my brother," he said casually. Well, as casually as any Holmes could pull off. It just wasn't in their D.N.A. to do casual, Hermione reasoned.

"Yes," she replied. "I care for him very much."

"Even before I told you that you two were married."

"Yes," she repeated. "Even before that."

He went silent a moment. "Mummy would like to see you two married in a church."

Swallowing thickly, she muttered, "I do believe I'd rather have my tits shrivel and fall off than do that."

He let out a snort of unexpected laughter. Even Mycroft looked startled at his own response.

"But if it is Sherlock's wish to make his mummy happy, I will do it." Her brown eyes went flinty, and pressed, "Only for him would I do as much."

He nodded to this and proceeded to ask, "You do realize that he will never love you the way you do him?"

She looked over to him and said, "You do realize that I know him far better and in ways you'll never comprehend?" She looked at her watch. "It's time again."

Hermione went over to the door, stopped and looked back over to him. "A question first. It has nothing to do with this, but I've been meaning to ask someone about it for the longest time."

"What?" he asked, sounding tired and a bit bored.

"What is the Good Book?" she inquired.

He was silent a moment before he said, "The Bible."

Realization crossed her face before she exclaimed, "Why the hell didn't he say as much?! Do you have any idea how many good books I've read in my life so far? Countless!"

He was still laughing when she left the small office.

…

Sabastian was freezing cold. The rain had turned to ice hours before. Even moving to the far wall had done little to keep the cold and ice away from him. Dread and misery lingered in the air nearly as badly as the moisture that seemed to cling to everything. It wasn't until after that woman had left the room that the smell of ocean hit him along with the spray that came through the slot that was pitifully called a window. If it wasn't the rain, it was the ocean. And no matter what, he couldn't escape either it would seem.

The door opened and he looked up to the woman walking into the cell. He was shivering as he sat there on his cot, looking rather pathetic as he did as much.

"I'm not…talking!" he snapped.

"Really? I do believe saying as much means just the opposite." She pulled out a large insolated thermos and poured herself a coffee. Sipping on it she murmured, "Want some?"

"I'm still not talking," he told her, even as he held out his hands for the coffee.

She put it into his hands and stepped away, telling him, "Drink it quickly before it goes ice cold, which should be any second now."

He had planned on throwing it at her, but the warmth on his fingers felt so damn good. And soon enough he was drinking it down, hoping that it would melt some of the cold that had settled into his innards. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he felt it. He blinked at the cup he still had in his hands and up at her.

"You drugged me," he breathed.

She nodded. "With a truth serum." She went over to him, taking the cup from him. "And the brilliant part of it all is that there's no way to fight it." She paused. "Brilliant for me, not so much for you and your secrets."

"I'd never expose any secret of Jim's!" he snapped.

"Really?" she breathed. "Are you two lovers?"

"Yes!" Moran looked at her shocked at his own answer that apparently wasn't finished yet. "Since we first met."

"You couldn't help yourself, could you?" she inquired. "I could ask you anything and you'd answer me." Walking away from him, she asked, "Is Professor James Moriarty, Jim's father, dead?"

"Yes," he replied, looking ready to cry. "Jim killed him when he went to teach at Brown University."

"And now Jim is pretending to be him?"

He shook his head no even as he answered, "Yes!"

"Did you make the mask Jim is using to dress up as his father?"

"Yes," he hissed between his teeth.

"Did you help Jim bury his father?"

He said nothing for a moment, but couldn't stop himself completely. "I did."

"Where is Professor James Moriarty's body?"

"Jim put dear old da through a wood chipper and dumped his body off the coast into the ocean. There's nothing to dig up." He punched himself in the shoulder, hissing in pain.

"The pain you cause yourself won't work to stop you from speaking," she told him. "It doesn't work that way." She looked at her watch. "Did Magnussen and Moriarty have a relationship?"

"Not in the way you mean," he answered tightly.

"Says who?" she asked him. "Jim?" She snorted at that. "You don't know him very well, do you?" She pulled out several pictures, handing them over to him. "The man in the photos with him is Terry Boot. And they aren't exactly playing chess there."

Moran whipped through the pictures, until he reached the last one with Jim cuddling up with this man. A growl ripped through his body, as he looked back over to her.

"Jim's only using him!"

"I have no doubt about that at all," she replied. "But isn't that so cute the way he's cuddling with his lover like that?" The pictures were crushed in Moran's hands, as he was glaring at her. "Jim uses everyone. You included. He had your number the first moment he met you." She opened the door, laughing darkly as she said, "I hate to sound so cliché, but he had you at that first greeting." She put on a playful pout, as she said in a mocking voice, "Isn't that sweet?"

He erupted from his seat only to crash into the heavy wood, feeling more than hearing as the heavy bar was put into place across the door. Sliding down to the floor, he was crying in pain—a pain that had nothing to do with his dislocated shoulder.

…

"We shouldn't be doing this," Harry told her.

Hermione looked up from her mobile. Harry had been pacing for the past half an hour. She was worried that this would happen. His conscious was getting to him. Hers had as well. There was no doubt about that. But at least she knew what kind of man Moran was and what would happen if she didn't do as she was doing.

Picking up the large file on the desk, she took it over to Harry. "Read this. The entire file."

"What is it?" he asked her.

"Moran's confidential military record," she told him, as she handed it off to him.

Twenty minutes later he was closing the file, breathing, "He may be a monster, but it doesn't make what we're doing right."

"I know." Those words had him blinking at her in shock. "But let me tell you a few ugly facts, not as a justification, but to let you know where I'm coming from." She pocketed the mobile, getting to her feet. "Jim and Sherlock are mortal enemies. This fight will keep going and going until one or both of them are dead." She stopped short of where Harry was as she snarled, "And I'll be damned if that person will be my husband."

"Moran isn't Jim!" he snapped.

"Moran is Jim's right hand man," she told him. "He would do _anything_ for Jim. And what's more, he has done worse than what we're doing to him here." She looked out the window to the prison that they had never left. "All we're doing is spell work, making him think he's in a different prison. He'll never see the inside of the real Azkaban prison no matter that he deserves that and more."

Hermione looked back over to him. "When all is said and done, Harry, he'll be questioned to the utmost before having his memories wiped. He'll be right back to the cell he was in before we were here, never recalling a bit of what we did to him in wrenching out the information from him. And if that makes me just as bad as he is…" She looked over to Harry, her amber eyes resigned. "So be it."

**TBC…**

**…**

**And there goes yet another chapter away on a finishing lap of the Internet stadium. Thanks for reading and I hope you all have yourselves a spellbinding day.**


	30. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Greetings and salutations! Welcome to chapter Twenty-nine. Check in is to your immediate left. Thank you for joining and enjoy your read.**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty-nine**

Finishing up with Moran, they left the prison. They now had Jim's different hideouts including where he was making the masks and the security codes to get into the house. Even after wiping the man's memories, Harry couldn't help but to think that Moran was only a shell of what he used to be. That is until he tried to pummel Hermione into the ground with his fists.

It took four guards and a Taser, but eventually he was yanked off of her.

They left the prison and it wasn't until they were outside of it near the cars that Hermione turned to Harry with her eyes hard.

She asked him, "Can you please tell me how it is that you survived as an auror this long?"

"I…I'm sorry," he murmured. "Were you injured?"

She glared at him, pointing to her reddening and bruising face—not to mention her swollen eye that she couldn't even open without great pain at that point. "What do you think, Harry?" When her friend didn't answer, she muttered, "I knew I should have brought Severus here with me."

…

By the time they had arrived to Grimmauld Place, Hermione was more than ready just to take pain and sleeping potions in order to take the rest of the night to heal. She told Harry that she knew Moran was one for the kind of attack he had used. Three women, two female guards and a nurse had been killed in his first days at the prison. It had been her own fault and she had apologized for taking it out on him.

She was on her way up the stairs getting potions she would need when Sherlock stopped her in her tracks, looking at her face.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice low.

"I let my guard down," she said hoarsely. "I was sloppy."

He nodded to this. "Go get your potions. I'll be reading your report as you do so."

Nodding, she went on her way again. Ten minutes later, she was back downstairs in the library. Her face was still healing, but she was already looking worlds better than she had when she arrived. Absently she took a tea from Mary, sitting with her, John, and Ginny. She kept to herself, as she sipped on her tea, looking over to Harry once he joined them in the library.

Clearing his throat, Harry asked, "Are you feeling better, Hermione?"

Swallowing the tea in her mouth, she said, "I'm fine." Studying him a moment, before asking him, "How is it that you've been an auror for as long as you have been and still be so unjaded?"

"What's an auror?" John asked.

"The magical equivalent of a police officer," Hermione answered him absently still staring straight at Harry. "You're good at your work. No doubt about it, Harry. But is that work being an auror or being a paper pusher?"

"I thought you said it was your own fault," Sherlock said from the desk he was at.

"It was," she told him. "All my own fault, but that doesn't stop there from being a few questions on my part."

"I messed up as well," Harry said. "I should have been more on guard." He looked over to Sherlock, who was now watching him. "I thought Moran was a broken man. I was very wrong and Hermione nearly paid the price for it."

The detective stared at him for a time before nodding to this and going back to his reading.

Harry looked back over to Hermione. "I'm…"

"If you apologize again, I'm going to lecture you on theoretical mathematics."

This had her friend smiling, as he said, "You hate that kind of math. It would be more of a punishment for you than me."

Grinning she said, "Yes, I know, but at least I got you to stop saying you were sorry." Needing to get out of that room, Hermione turned to Mary. "How's Rachael?"

The new mother smiled. "She's grand. Currently she's taking a nap. I should be doing the same, but I wanted to see how it went at the prison."

Hermione got up, helping Mary to her feet. "Come on. Let's go see Rachael and you can lay down while I tell you about what happened."

"Okay," she murmured and the two went over to the guestroom that Mary, John and Rachael were using during their stay.

It wasn't until five minutes later that Harry got to his feet, saying, "I don't know about you, but I need a drink…"

"Tell me, Potter, just how old were you when they made you into the leader of these aurors?" Sherlock asked him.

Frowning Harry looked over to him. "What does that have to do…?"

"Just answer the question!" Sherlock snapped. "How old were you?"

"It was in 2007," he answered quietly. "What does that matter?"

"Meaning you were 27," Sherlock continued. "How long did you train for?"

"Two years," he answered.

"You only had six years on the job," Sherlock muttered. "What on earth qualified you being the head of any department let alone that one at that point in your life? And please don't tell me it was because you were a war hero!"

Silence was heavy in the room. Ginny didn't know what to say or do other than going over to Harry and rubbing his shoulder in a sign of support.

"Why don't you think I was qualified?" Harry asked him, determined to get a clear answer.

"Because you never had to make a hard choice!" Sherlock told him, getting to his feet and going over to him. Towering over him, he snapped, "You were a face people knew and so you were made the head of a department, making people feel safe again. But when it comes right down to it, you didn't deserve the post as you never earned it."

"I damn well earned it!" Harry roared. "I died for it!"

"That was the war," Sherlock told him. "Tell me one hard decision you've made on the job. Just one!"

Harry fought with his memory, but damn if he couldn't think of anything.

"We hunted the Death Eaters."

"But that wasn't your decision to make," the detective pointed out to him. "That would have happened regardless of you saying yes or no. And what's more, you know it."

"What's this really about?" John asked him.

Sherlock turned to his friend and said, "Hermione made the choice to make Moran think he was transferred to a horrible prison by the name of Azkaban. She proceeded to pump him full of truth potion and went about questioning him for the next four hours. Something Harry had a problem with and told Hermione as much. I was questioning his right to judge Hermione in this, as I don't see him as being qualified to do as much." He looked back over to Harry. "He may have some experience in the post, but I doubt he has ever made the kind of decision Hermione was forced to do today."

"That's not true!" Ginny exclaimed. "He's been through hell making some of the choices he has!"

"Really?" he asked flatly. "What do you two think Hermione is doing right now?" He looked back and forth between them. "Well?"

"Looking in on Rachael," Harry breathed.

"Come with me," Sherlock ordered.

The other's followed Harry over to the room John and Mary were using. Sherlock looked over to Harry and said, "Use that spell that can make it so we can see them, but they can't see us."

Taking out his wand, he did as he was ordered. What he saw hit him like a ton of bricks. Hermione was on the floor, curled into a ball sobbing into her hands as Mary was sitting next to her rubbing her back. Seeing this knocked the wind out of Harry and had Ginny gasping in shock.

"People pay for the hard choices they make in this life. They always do." Harry looked to Sherlock, too shell shocked to say anything. "You, sir, are a nation's security blanket and a glorified paper pusher. And until you make one difficult choice, one that will mean truly paying for it, you are no one to stand in judgment of my wife."

**TBC…**

**…**

**Ouch! Snap! That has got to hurt. Review to let me know what you think. Thanks for reading and have yourself a smile filled day.**


	31. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**BONUS CHAPTER! It's my story and I'll post a bonus chapter if I want to.**

**Hi! Here we are at chapter thirty! Wow. It feels just like a day or two ago that I was saying it was chapter thirteen. How the time flies. Thank you for joining me for the journey. Buckle up! The ride is sure to get bumpier from here! Enjoy.**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Thirty**

The cry had helped. Sleep would help more so.

After she had felt drained both mentally and physically by crying herself out as she had, Mary had sent a text to Sherlock. He went straight upstairs, helping Hermione up off of the floor. Aiding her in changing into her sleep wear, he soon had her in bed.

"Rest," he murmured. "Let the potions work to heal you."

Leaning down he kissed her lips tenderly, tucking her into the bedding before going back down to do more planning.

…

It was well past midnight when Harry went into the library. Sherlock watched as he went over and sat down hard in a chair across from him.

"I'm good at my work," Harry told him. "I've earned my post." When Sherlock didn't say anything, he went on with, "But you're right. I haven't had to make those kind of choices Hermione made yesterday." Harry ran his fingers through his hair, sending it into a wilder disarray than it was before. "I've taken children from abusive parents, thrown the guilty into prison to await trial for crimes I thoroughly investigated, and did what I thought was just."

"And as a result you were always true to your moral compass," Sherlock drawled.

Harry nodded. "And I thought Hermione was the same way."

The non-magical man stared at him for a time before saying, "Chances are that Hermione made more difficult decisions in one day when she was in the Department of Mysteries than you ever have in your career as an auror."

Harry laughed bitterly. "I always wondered why Hermione had higher clearance than I had back then. I guess I know now." He looked back over to Sherlock, who was watching him. "I've been learning as I go." Sighing heavily, he admitted, "This was a difficult lesson, but I did learn from it."

"Good," Sherlock replied. "How are you at planning and executing said plan?"

Frowning he said, "Decent. Why?"

…

Chief Inspector Greg Lestrade walked into the large conference room to see several troops of people including Hermione, John and Mary Watson, and Sherlock. Lecturing everyone was Mycroft, who was having papers handed off to different team leaders—himself included. Looking at the warrant in his hand, he was beginning to wonder just how big of an operation this was going to be if he were just one of many going out into the field with the paperwork to back him up.

Walkie-talkies were handed out to all the leaders, four in all, and the teams themselves were dismissed so that Mycroft could have a private word with the heads of the teams.

"Timing is everything," Mycroft told them. "Anthea will be in charge of giving you your mark as to entrance. You will not go a moment before. Is that clear?"

"Why is the timing so important?" Greg asked.

Mycroft looked over to him and from the face he was making he was about to be as bad as Sherlock ever has been to Anderson.

"We can't let the other locations know as to the raids or it'll be like a house of cards toppling and all of our work would be for not," Hermione answered.

Looking over to her, the police officer smiled and thanked her for the explanation.

Hermione looked back over to a now glaring Mycroft and simply said, "I have a birthday cake in my freezer with your name on it."

Glaring at her, he just moved on to the next item even as Sherlock was laughing evilly from next to her.

"Potter, do you have the paperwork that you need to get into your location?"

"Yes," he answered quietly. "And it'll be official at the same time as the paperwork for the other locations."

"Very good," he muttered, looking towards Anthea.

"Official entrance time is at noon sharp," she told them. "But timing being as it is, I'll be in communication with all involved with a countdown starting at eleven thirty."

"Mrs. Holmes, have you had contact with the team hunting down the body?" Mycroft inquired, making Greg looking over to Hermione startled at her title.

"Yes, and we now are in possession of well over half of the bones," she told him. "They're putting it together like a puzzle. They've found viable DNA and testing has commenced. We should have the answers before the confrontation."

"Good," he murmured, looking over to Sherlock. "And you?"

"Message sent," he told him. "He'll be meeting me."

"Are you sure?" Mycroft pressed.

"He wants to win the game," he said quietly. "Of course he'll meet me."

"Noon sharp, Sherlock," his brother pressed. "Not a moment sooner." When all his younger brother did was glare at him, he went back to addressing the others there. "Report via mass text once the raid is done and you have some answers to share. Nonsense will not be tolerated."

Mycroft dismissed the team leaders. Hermione was in the middle of handing both John and Sherlock jackets, making Greg wonder what that was all about.

"Chief Inspector! Just the man I needed to see," she said, turning to a rack of jackets she was next to and pulled one off and handed it over to him. "Try it on. It should fit like a glove."

"I have a jacket, Miss Granger…"

"Mrs. Holmes," Sherlock corrected him. "My wife."

Looking over to him stunned, Greg asked, "When did this happen?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, as Hermione said, "A while ago, sir. The jacket? Does it fit?"

He pulled off his own jacket and put it on. Blinking at them in shock, he said, "It's one of the most comfortable jackets I've ever worn."

"He's right," John said, stretching his arms over his head. "I've never had the like before."

"And you haven't heard the best part," Sherlock said. "They're fire proof, water proof, and bullet proof."

"No!" John and Greg said at the same time.

"The material is a combination of two types of silk and a micro-Kevlar," Hermione told them. "One of my best creations to date."

"You sew?" John asked her.

"No, I design fabrics and ask those who do sew to put it together into something akin to fashion," she told him, even as she was looking at her watch. "Mark in one and a half hours." She looked to Greg. "You best get going. Traffic at this time of day can be burdensome."

Nodding he began to leave, but turned and said to Hermione, "Congratulations, Mrs. Holmes. I hope you know what you're in for with the likes of Sherlock."

She thanked him, but said nothing as she appeared to be waiting for something to happen. When John was about to ask her what she was about, she hushed him. When her husband looked over to her, she mouthed, "Anderson and Donavon."

Nodding Sherlock began to wait as well.

"_WHAT?!_" came the chorus from the other part of the building from the very two she had mentioned.

Laughing to herself now, Hermione said, "I'm ready to go when you are."

**TBC…**

**…**

**Another chapter has jumped off the cliff into the internet ocean. The fun is about to begin! Thanks for reading and have yourselves a dazzling day.**


	32. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Oh my goodness! I would like to thank my fanfiction readers, without whom I wouldn't be here posting. I would also like to thank my reviewers, my followers, and the people that took the time to favorite! Many thanks go out to my cat for not jumping on my chest while I was writing this bogus acceptance speech and my internet for not cutting out lately…Okay, okay, I'm finishing! Please read and review!**

**Yeah, award season has come back and is haunting us all it would seem. LOL!**

**…**

**Chapter Thirty-one**

The hub of the united raids was up and running within a matter of forty-five minutes. Everyone had a place within it. The eyes and ears of each team had their hub with Anthea being located in the center, having eyes on a set of screens that covered everything. Mycroft had a place as well, but used it more as a location to hold his personal items rather than a place to sit. Normally, he would be sitting as well, but nerves at that moment were getting the better of him. Not something that happened often, but when it did he knew it was best just to keep an eye on everything to ease his mind if nothing else.

It wasn't until later when the raids were occurring that he commandeered one of the other chairs closer to Anthea. He was only grateful Sherlock wasn't there to point out that he had been no better than an average person in that moment. Goldfish indeed.

"Team one in position," Greg said, via the walkie-talkie.

Mycroft looked at the first set of screens and saw how the house in Kent was surrounded by the New Scotland Yard. Unbeknownst to Lestrade, there were a couple of magicals on his team to take care of any traps that they may trip on the way in to where Moriarty had his mask making area set up. And seeing as this was also where Moriarty had his love nest, there was a chance that Terry Boot might be there waiting for his lover as well. Better safe than sorry was the way Harry Potter put it.

"Team two in position," came from John Watson, who was with a team of magicals at Leeds University to bring in Terry Boot.

According to the schedule, he should be there. But one never can be too sure and a different set of magicals were sent to his home that wasn't all too far from the campus. He referred to that team as a subset of the second team and they had called in as to location just prior to the headquarters being deemed operational.

Fifteen minutes later, team three called in as to being in position as well. He looked at a set of cameras outside of the Bank in question. Mycroft knew without a doubt that if he had the team headed by Harry Potter using cameras on their persons that all people at the headquarters other than himself, would have had their memories wiped. Gringotts wasn't for the mundane and it certainly wasn't for those not in the know. And these people here definitely fell under that heading. More is the pity, as he had wanted to ask what Anthea thought of the fashion sense, or lack thereof, within the magical community for as long as he knew of them.

Mycroft heard a beeping sound coming from his left pocket that had him pulling out a small notebook.

_Electronics being monitored. Team four in position._

"Very good," he muttered, taking up his mobile and pretending that he read the message there. "Team four is in place. Their electronics are being monitored. See what you can do about that, Anthea."

"I'm on it," she replied and went to work.

"Satellites are online and all is go," came from another station.

Mycroft looked over to the time. The seconds ticking off even as Anthea announced that the external monitoring by the other party had been disabled at the fourth location.

"On my mark," Anthea said into her own mike. "In five, four, three, two, one…Mark. Green light! All is a go!"

…

**_Team One_**

**_Location—Kent, England_**

**_Time—12 p.m._**

The raid on the Kent house was a rather run of the mill one, as far as those who were conducting it were concerned. It was what they did after all. Just another day at work.

The neighbors, on the other hand, were a different story. Many were out in their own yards, watching the raid as it occurred. And rumors, being as they were, ran the gambit from that it was a drug raid on a crystal meth house to the man that lived there being a serial killer. When a lawyer with a small but influential law firm in town went over and asked one of the men guarding the drive if they should be evacuating or not, he was told that it was a case of treason and the evacuation at this time wasn't necessary. When told this, many of the neighbors stopped filming with their mobiles, as it was seriously boring them and no one would be paying for something that would be blocked from being aired.

The few that continued watching were doing so just in case the stuffed shirt of a lawyer had been lied to. Goodness knows many of them had done so to get him to shut his gob on more than one occasion.

…

Lestrade strode into the room, ever watchful as they made their way through room by room. He had received an all clear on the basement, as well as the first floor. It wasn't until they reached the master bedroom that they found anything of import. The room was divided up into two parts. One was the bedroom area and the other was a clean room where what looked like a workshop area for stage makeup was set up with several already made masks of an older man's face were waiting to be worn.

Lifting the walkie-talkie, he transmitted, "We have the masks and equipment. It looks like there's a few curing as we speak, but there are already five ready to go all of the same man's face."

"Good," Mycroft said. "Have the forensics team collect the evidence with extreme care. We don't know if the area is booby trapped or not. Photograph first and set your men to go over the area. You know better than I what needs to be done to see if no one will be injured while doing the collection of the evidence."

"Will do," Greg answered, but then paused and said, "You know damn well what tests need to be run." He chuckled. "I'll just thank you and be on with my work, shall I?"

Mycroft didn't speak for a beat, but then said, "It's moments like this that I don't think that you are as straight as you claim." And he cut off communications.

Greg's face went beet red at the snort of laughter coming from Donavon next to him. Gritting his teeth, he muttered to himself, "Fucking Holmes brothers."

**TBC…**

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	33. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**BONUS CHAPTER! Do I need a reason? Okay. It's Friday.**

**Hello! I'll make this short. Thanks. Enjoy. Please review!**

**…**

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

**_Team Two_**

**_Location—Leeds University_**

**_Time—12 p.m._**

John was paired with a woman by the name of Tonks, who had so far tripped twice and had managed to trip him at least as many times. She had been at the reception for Sherlock and Hermione. He asked her how she had known Hermione only to have the woman blinking at him and wondering how much she could tell him.

"I've been told a bit about your war," John told her. "Not details, but I know bits."

Tonks nodded to this and said, "I met Hermione during her fifth year at Hogwarts."

Frowning he asked, "Hogwarts? That's a school name?"

Laughing Tonks told him, "Yeah, sounds ridiculous but it's really one of the best magical schools there is in the world." Frowning she asked, "How is it that you were told? You don't have a magical relative, do you?"

"Mary, my wife, is Hermione's distant cousin," he repeated what Hermione told him to say when asked. "Which didn't stop the two of them from being as close as sisters."

Tonks smiled at that, but said nothing. John wondered what that was about, but as they had just arrived at Terry Boot's office he didn't have the chance to ask. Tonks had him standing with the others as she and another man by the name of Justin broke down the wards to the office and were inside of it in a matter of ten minutes.

Looking around the office, it was clear that the man had bolted some time before. It wasn't until one of them found a strip of pictures and handed them over to John that he had some idea why.

It was a series of photo-booth pictures of Terry with none other than Jim Moriarty.

An Indian woman by the name of Padma went over to Tonks with what looked to be a notebook of some sort. "The last date he has written in here was the date Mr. Watson was here with Hermione and a man named Sherlock.

John took up the notebook, reading over the information. "According to this he said seeing Hermione here made him concerned that might have been doing the wrong thing when he did as his lover asked him to and rushed from here to his home."

Tonks got onto the walkie-talkie to the other team that was at Terry Boot's home.

"He isn't here," she said to them. "You got anything there?"

"Dead body," the man who answered told her. "Been here a while from the look of him." There was a pause. "Funny thing though. For being this far gone, you'd think he'd be stinking up the place."

Tonks and Justin looked to each other and she told him, "You know what to do."

"I'm on it!" he replied.

"What's going on?" John asked Tonks.

"There are ways to fake a dead body," she told him. "Trouble comes with the fact that even though you might get something that looks like a dead body, it'll never smell like one."

"That's amazing," John murmured.

Tonks shrugged and said, "It is what it is and that's a pain in the ass, as more times than not they're used as a method to escape from a situation and it slows us down to enough give them the time they need."

"Bloody hell, Tonks! You'll never believe what we got here!" came through on the walkie-talkie just as Justin pulled out his wand and was about to shoot out a spell at Tonks.

Pushing her aside, John had his gun out and firing it at the man, hitting him dead between his eyes. The wizard crumpled to the ground dead, as the others there went over to him. Tonks removed the glamour on the man to show that it was a wizard none of them there knew.

"Justin Flinch-Fletchley is over there dead," Tonks said via the communication device. "We have an unknown here that posed as Justin. Send the signal to team four. Hermione won the bet."

John looked to her startled, saying, "What bet?"

"She thought that Terry Boot might try to get someone onto this team coming to the university or his home," she told him. "It wasn't a bet we had so much as…" She looked down to the dead man. "Hermione hoping that she was wrong." Tonks swallowed thickly, muttering, "I was wishing she was wrong too, but I should have known. Needless to say that doesn't happen all that often."

…

**_Team Three_**

**_Location—Gringotts Bank_**

**_Time—12 p.m._**

Harry walked into the bank, followed by his men, as well as several large boxes filled to the brim with the information the Goblins would have required to get into the vault in question. Pulling out the warrant, he went straight over to Bill Weasley who was waiting for him. Handing him the scroll, he waited as the eldest Weasley brother read over what was there.

"Good," he murmured. "Come with me. The head of the bank wishes to go over everything with the others."

Harry followed him, as did the others and soon they found themselves in a large conference room. The long table was lined on both sides with goblins watching them intently.

"Divide the work between them," the goblin at the head of the table told Harry. "Do so in a logical fashion. We both need them to get this reading done quickly. You so you can get into the vault and me so that they are back to the jobs they're paid for."

Harry divided up the paperwork in a way that each of the piles covered a different topic in regards to Terry Boot, his relation to Jim Moriarty and how the account wasn't Terry's but his lover's—who was a muggle. Proof was given as far as that was concerned as well. It was succinct and down to the point, as he too had no wish to waste his own time.

It took close to a half an hour, but soon each of the goblins that had gone over all the different evidence as to the validity of Terry Boot's ownership of the vault had spoken to the head of the bank. Soon enough he was standing, as he pulled out a key that had many of his own employees gasping at the sight. The master key had only been used two other times to their knowledge. The sight of it was something many would speak to their grandchildren of when they were much older.

"Come," he said, his voice harsh. "Let's take care of business, shall we?"

Twenty minutes later it was confirmed—they had Magnussen's stash of blackmail material.

A cart ride back to the surface, Harry got onto his cellphone and texted, "_Found the golden goose. Instructions?_"

Five minutes later and he received, "_Bring it to base. It will be catalogued and dealt with accordingly._"

He sent his patronus to the vault with instructions to pack it all up and shrink it for shipment to headquarters. Sighing to himself, he texted Hermione with the news of the haul they had found.

**TBC…**

**…**

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	34. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Hello! We're nearly to the end. Enjoy!**

**Please read and review.**

**…**

**Chapter Thirty-three**

**_Team Four_**

**_Location—The Great Court at the British Museum_**

**_Time—12 p.m._**

Sherlock opened the door to the Great Court, passing by the sign declaring that it was closed for renovations. The echoes of his footsteps reverberated throughout the interior and managed to be amplified by the stone and glass enclosure. He stopped short of the stairs and watched as Jim Moriarty, grinning like a mad man came strolling leisurely down the stairs to the right of him. Turning to face him, he just waited to see what he had to say.

"You lived," Jim said casually. "I should have known you'd find a way to cheat death." He pouted. "And my game as well."

Sherlock turned his head slightly at the sound of steps on the stairs behind him.

"But we'll take care of that right now," Moriarty told him, sounding smug as to the outcome.

"_Avada_…" was as far as the man got before dropping and rolling down the stairs unconscious.

Jim's eyes went wide, as gentle footfalls came to his ears and soon enough Hermione rounded the bend in the staircase. Approaching them both, she smiled slowly.

"I told you, Jim, you'd never know what would bring me into play," she told him, going over to him. "It's over."

"It's never over!" he howled, stepping away from her.

"It's well and truly over," Sherlock told him. "We have Magnussen's stash."

"Check," Hermione replied.

"We have the masks you've been using to impersonate your own father," the detective said.

Jim's eyes went narrow. "That proves nothing."

Hermione pulled her hand out of her jacket pocket, tossing something at Jim that he caught easily. In his hand was a molar with a hole in it. Looking from it to Hermione, it was as if he were asking what this was.

"Jim, it's like your father said way back when—nothing is impossible until proven otherwise," she said casually. "We found him."

"No," he breathed.

"Well, not all of him, but we found the majority of his bones," she corrected. "And isn't that what matters the most in the end?"

"No," he growled. "Those could be anyone's bones!"

"We went into your Grandmother's grave, took some of her DNA and matched it to the DNA we fetched from the bones," Sherlock told him, "It was a match."

"Check," Hermione repeated.

"No!" he screamed, pulling out a pistol and pointing it straight at Hermione's head.

Sherlock stepped in front of her even as a singular laser focused on Jim's head from Mary's sniper rifle. Going up to him, Sherlock took the gun from him.

"It's over," he told him. "All of it. Your game, the threats against my people, and you."

"It will never be over! I won't let it!" Jim screamed at him, turning to snarl at Hermione. "And you, you should have died like a good little girl…"

Sherlock's fist met Jim's nose, knocking him back onto his ass. Blinking at him, it was clear that the master criminal was very puzzled.

"Oh Jamie, there are some things you will never fathom," Hermione told him just as the police came in and yanked him off of the ground. "Goodbye, Jim."

It was then that he saw both Hermione's and Sherlock's wedding bands. They dragged him away, screaming like a raving lunatic that he was going to get them both if it killed him. It wasn't until Jim was completely out of the building that Hermione signaled to Mary the all clear, which would have her going back to base to meet up with her husband.

"I wish that you'd just let me wipe his memories," she muttered.

"It wouldn't work," Sherlock told her. "We tested it on me. And if it wouldn't work on me, it most definitely wouldn't work on him."

Sighing, she said, "Pity."

Turning to look over to Terry Boot, he asked, "What did you do to him?"

"Knocked him out," she told him. "Fainting charm." Looking at her watch, she said, "He'll be out for another twenty or so minutes." Frowning she muttered, "He's lucky that's all I did do to him, considering that he was about to kill you."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"The spell he was going to use? That's the killing curse he was starting to say. There has only been one individual that was able to live through that," she told him. "Not once, but twice."

"Who?"

"Harry," she murmured just as the aurors arrived to take Justin away.

They weren't able to speak again until after they were permitted to go on their way.

It was as they were leaving the Great Court that Sherlock said to her, "You cheated with that coin flip to keep the dog."

Smiling, she said, "Yes, but I was expecting you to say as much earlier than this." Looking over to him, she inquired, "Do you want me to find him a new home? I know Luna and her husband would both love to have him."

"No," he sighed. "I like having him around the house."

"Despite the fact that I've spelled him to prevent you from doing experiments on him?"

That had him stopping to look at her.

"What?" she asked him.

"Did you do that before or after I attempted to see if shaving the dog would increase dander in the house?"

"Before," she told him. "You're a scientist for pity sake! What would the dog be but another means to prove or disprove theories?"

Smiling he leaned down and kissed her lips lightly. "Meal, sleep, and testing to see what makes you scream, Mrs. Holmes?"

Nodding she slipped her arm through his, as she said, "You always make me the best offers, Mr. Holmes."

"I always will," he drawled, his sultry tones making her shiver. Grinning to himself, he knew that was more than enough of an answer for him.

**TBC…**

**Another chapter is finished and it's just the epilogue to go. What are you waiting for? LOL!**


	35. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Sherlock, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.**

**Our journey is coming to an end, my friends. Enjoy.**

**…**

**Epilogue**

**_April_**

John, Mary, and Rachael were coming into 221 even as Mycroft was making his way out. Mycroft held the door open for them, nodding quietly to John even as Mary went ahead of him into the apartment.

"Two words of warning," Mycroft told him. "One, I've just informed Sherlock what fates have befallen Moriarty and Boot. Needless to say, he isn't happy about it."

Thinking that over he said, "Okay. And the other?"

Rolling his eyes, he said, "Hermione is being weaned off of coffee."

John's eyes went a bit wider. "For what reason?"

"I've been asked not to say, but I've been told a doctor was involved in this decision."

With a last nod to each other, John went inside of the building. Hoping Hermione was going about taking herself off the coffee the correct way, he made his way over to 221B. He didn't know what he was going to find, but what he did discover was rather odd.

Hermione was sitting at the dining table with a row of different insulated to-go cups in front of her. Mary, was smiling at her encouragingly even as she was telling her to try them at least.

Mary looked over to her husband, smiling as she informed him, "She's trying different decaffeinated coffees, as her doctor told her that her blood pressure is too high."

Hermione turned to John, saying, "My doctor could be wrong, can't he?"

"No he isn't!" came from Sherlock, who was walking past the kitchen door with Rachael. And went on to say to the child, "Your aunt is being terribly stubborn about the need to stop drinking coffee, Rachael."

Hermione buried her face into her hands, muttering, "It would serve him right if I hid his patches."

There was a pause in Sherlock's walking, but then he kept going. As it was he hid his patches just to keep them out of his brother's and John's grasps. She didn't know where they were. Because, under normal circumstances, she just wouldn't care.

"So what's this I heard about Mycroft telling you what has happened to Moriarty and Boot?" John inquired, gaining both Hermione's and Sherlock's attention.

"Terry was shipped off to Azkaban Prison for his life sentence for killing Justin Finch-Fletchley and the attempted murder of Sherlock," Hermione said, sounding low as she did so.

"What's Azkaban?" Mary was the one to inquire.

"It's the magical prison here in the U.K." Hermione told her.

"What makes it magical?" John asked her.

Hermione looked over to him, her eyes bleak. "The prison's guards used to be these things called Dementors. They have the ability to suck the happiness from you and make you relive your darkest moments. As a result, most of the prisoners are as mad as hatters even now from just the residual magic they left behind. The Dementors were also used as an ultimate form of punishment. They'd give you a kiss that sucks out your soul and makes you into a soulless husk until your body dies."

This even had Sherlock going over to where she was sitting and looked at her in horror. "I do believe that's another magical being that I could do without meeting."

Hermione scoffed, as she rebutted, "You don't want to meet a unicorn. Everyone wants to meet a unicorn!"

"Correction—every thirteen year old girl may want to meet one, but that's about it. Admit it," he told her.

She thought it over, muttering, "I wasn't one of them, but you are correct in your assessment."

"You don't want to meet a unicorn?" John asked his friend. "I would have thought you'd be the first in line to meet one."

Hermione took a drink of one of the cups, telling Sherlock, "Number two tastes like it's been filtered through a dirty sock."

"Two is out," Sherlock murmured, even as he thought that he had been sure she wasn't going to like that one even as he purchased it. Looking over to John, he said, "Unicorns are a protected species and are harmed by the touch of non-virgins. What would be the point of meeting one, if I couldn't pet it?"

"Good point," John said, but then asked, "What happened to Moriarty?"

Sherlock's face went hard at the question. Hermione got up, going over to him, and took Rachael from him. "Go on and tell him. I'll hold her as you can't seem to express yourself in this matter without grabbing something and throwing it."

"Thank you," he muttered, turning to John. "He won't tell me what prison he's in!" And true to what Hermione said, Sherlock grabbed a magazine and chucked it into the living room.

"How many times do I have to tell you," Hermione told him. "You need to throw something that shatters, makes a tremendous amount of noise and creates chaos in its destruction. Or you'll be at it all day, as there won't be any satisfaction to it."

Hermione's empty coffee mug floated over to him, making Sherlock grin. Taking it up, he threw it against the wall and shattered it.

"I can't believe that you let him do that," Mary breathed. "That was your favorite mug!" Hermione just shrugged and absently repaired it with a bit of wandless, wordless magic.

"Why won't he tell you where Moriarty is?" John asked him.

"He's in a high isolation prison," Sherlock told him. "He isn't permitted guests at all and is in isolation twenty-three hours a day." He went into deep thought. "There's not many prisons of that sort in the world."

"More than you think," came from both Hermione and Mary at the same time.

Both of the women smiled, even as Mary took her daughter back. Going back to the taste test, Hermione opened the lid to the third to-go cup to do the visual inspection and frowned at the look of it. Pulling out her wand, she tapped the brim. A read out was printed over it, calling all of the other's attention to it.

Now glaring, she muttered, "_Nox!_" She looked over to Sherlock. "Whomever made this coffee for you spat in it."

John took that cup away, dumping it out into the sink.

"But that wasn't why you didn't drink it," Sherlock said.

"Solvents were used as a means of decaffeination," she told him. "I don't care what they say those are by no way natural." She looked to Mary. "This is going to take forever the way I'm going."

"Just keep trying," Mary attempted to bolster her spirits. "You'll find one that you like, I'm sure."

"Why won't he tell you where Moriarty is?" John asked Sherlock.

"Chances are that he shipped him out of the country," he muttered. "But where?"

"I love number four!" Hermione crowed.

"Of course you do," Sherlock muttered. "That has twenty percent caffeine."

Hermione leapt to her feet, going over to him. "Please! Please! Sherlock, think of it as a first step towards a full decaffeinated state. Think of it as my patch, if you must."

"Very well, but if your blood pressure isn't made any better…"

"I'll go completely off of it," she told him. "I promise."

"Very well, but you heard what the healer said," Sherlock said. "Even it being decaffeinated, you can only have five cups a day." His eyes narrowed on her, as he added, "And no getting an oversized mug."

"Damn," she hissed, walking away to the kitchen to take up the fourth to-go cup to sip on the coffee.

"So why the trip to the healer's?" John asked them.

"I wasn't feeling right," Hermione said. "I attributed it to the case we had just finished that had me throwing up all the time and Sherlock said it was because I'm pregnant."

John and Mary looked at them both expectantly.

"Well?!" Mary pressed.

Hermione and Sherlock looked to each other, slow grins crossing their faces.

"Really, John? When have you ever known Sherlock to be wrong?" Hermione asked him.

Mary and John went straight over to Hermione, hugging her even as Sherlock told Rachael that she would be getting a new cousin before too long.

John went over to Sherlock, inquiring, "Are you happy about this?"

He nodded slowly to this, handing over Rachael to her father. "More than I thought possible." He looked over to his wife, who was questioning Mary about pregnancy. "Marriage wasn't what I thought it would be."

Laughing, John told him, "It never is."

…

Across the sea, in an infamous Cuban prison, Jim Moriarty was in his isolated cell. Waiting and planning for the day he would be free.

**The End!**

**…**

**And there we are. Our voyage is over. Thank you ever so much for all the support, reviews, and follows/favorites. You guys are awesome squared! Take care and until we meet again—Shanti (Hindi).**


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